


light to darkness.

by eoghainy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-24 15:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16642697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: drabbles taken & updated from original ficlet.





	1. fire from the tongues of liars.

**Author's Note:**

> drabbles taken & updated from original ficlet.

“Oh, Maker!”

Alistair cried, and immediately, the lithe Warden turned to face him. 

Lialya Mahariel had been distracted by the beautiful view from the top of Ostagar, specifically upon the bridge that led to the Tower of Ishal. Albeit the land being tainted by so much death, and the fact that bodies still littered the unbroken yards of snow, it still retained its simple, snowy beauty. The peaks and rises below seemed to stretch endlessly, and the icy substance covering them sent a bitter chill up her spine. The snow could be so beautiful, especially once the sun hit it correctly and the air was filled with tiny sparkles of light. But, from experience, she knew how cold and deadly winters could get. Fighting Darkspawn with the cold winds and the relentless sleet would be hard. She could only pray that their Blight would be over before the snows spread across Ferelden and hindered their already rushed work. 

“What is it?” The Dalish hurried to his side, her calloused fingers gracing against his armored shoulders. He had collapsed onto his knees, hands braced against the rough stones, body heaving as he retched. His arms trembled as they struggled to hold himself up. Vile yellow liquid dripped from his lips, and all he could stand to do was stare bleakly at what lay ahead. 

Forcing herself to turn towards what Alistair was both horrified and sickened by, Lialya could feel her own horror twinged with grief rising inside of her. What stood before them was a perch with two lopsided golden wings stretching out from the middle of the stand. There were spikes and staves driven into the hard wood base, keeping a fragile, fleshy body pinned to the frame. His hips and chest sagged away from the wood. But there was no mistaking the golden hair, or the broad, strong frame. Their long search through Ostagar had come to an end; they had found their fallen king. 

“They mutilated him,” Alistair’s voice cracked in horror, and his tone sounded thick. Very thick. Like he was about to vomit once more. “Look at him.”

Bile rose in her own throat as she did as she was told, booted feet carrying her forward. 

Alistair was right. The Darkspawn hadn’t just killed Cailan; they had ripped him apart. The skin going up from his hips up to his shoulders and collarbones was painted with black and purple bruises. His bones were twisted grotesquely through his skin, some even going as far as to split through the thinner portions of his flesh; mostly around his elbows and his knees. Picked–over bones stuck out from his hips, and a few jutted out from his chest. One or two of the bones still had flecks of rotted flesh stuck to them, and it briefly reminded her of discarded pork ribs. Crows had been picking at him. She could see beak marks marring his fair skin.

On his head, however, lay a crown of what appeared to be thorns. Curious, Lialya took another cautious step forward for a closer look, biting back bile upon seeing the sharp shards of metal woven into the branches. They dug into Cailan’s skull, leaving dried blood crusted where the wounds were. She sucked in a sharp breath when she saw his eyes; eyes that had once shone so brightly with excitement. All the blood vessels in them had popped, leaving them bloodshot and glassy. One eye was half–open. There was no sign of fear in his dark, cyan hues, only contentment. How has he managed to stay content in the face of death? Hadn’t he been afraid of what would be done to him once his soul had fled his body?

Cailan’s open mouth revealed blood–stained teeth, and upon even closer inspection, she could see that his tongue was missing. His lips were cracked, and the bottom one was split. Three teeth were missing from his top row, and six from his bottom. Deep, riveted scratches lined the column of his neck down to his collarbones, where the bruises began. His head hung limply, chin brushing his chest with each gust of wind. His hair was tattered and greasy, lacking its usual shine. He was too quiet. There should be air flowing through his lungs, and blood pumping through his body. Lialya hadn’t known him long, but she had quickly grown used to his loud, boisterous nature; his jesters’ personality. He had been a comfort amongst all this darkness. Now he served as a twisted reminder of how cruel the Darkspawn could be, even after death. 

However, that was not the extent to his mutilation, she noted. His abdomen had been carelessly carved open, leaving a gaping, dark wound. Lialya could see maggots writhing around in the organs that remained, and disgust rose inside of her. Out of the corner of her gaze, she could see a red mound resting a few inches away from where she stood. Turning towards it, she spotted his entrails, neatly coiled into a ring. Blood had stained the stones underneath. Flies buzzed around his rotting intestines, and the stench of burnt and rotting flesh lay heavy in the air. Cailan lacked his underclothes and his trademark golden armor, leaving him laid bare to the sun and whatever animals came for him. 

Shuddering, Lialya couldn’t tear her gaze away from another wound that stretched from his hip across to his opposite thigh, taking everything in between. He didn’t deserve to be left like this. It was wrong; he was receiving none of the respect a king deserved.

Forcing herself to look away, she was reminded of Tamlen. Her Dalish companion had been so idiotic to go forth and touch the mirror, despite her pleas not for him not to. Duncan had to have been right. He must have simply died from the sickness, and the Darkspawn would have left him alone. Or, so she hoped. Prayed, even.

Trailing her way over Alistair and bending down beside him, she soothingly ran her fingers through his tufted–up hair. How did she even begin organizing a funeral for a king, for one like _Cailan_? It would be virtually impossible.

“We need to build a pyre for him,” she murmured, gently placing her hand back upon his shoulder. He looked up at her with grief–stricken eyes, and she understood. He couldn’t do this. She didn’t blame him. “He must be burned. All of him.”

“I can’t bear to see it, I can’t . . . I can’t see it.”

Lialya was glad that she was the only one who had gone up close. Morrigan and Sten had the sense to keep their mouths shut whilst she had investigated, and to let Alistair grieve on his own. Still, she was surprised Morrigan had managed to refrain from lashing out at Alistair whilst he mourned. She was the only one who would have been able to keep her cool and to prevent Alistair from feeling _worse_.

“I understand,” she whispered. “We’ll burn him, and then we can take his ashes back to Anora.” He stiffened at her words, but she carried on. “We’ll take some ashes for you, too. Just stay here, okay? Let’s actually get you away from the vomit.” Together, they moved from Cailan’s humiliating pose. She ended up leaving him turned away from the rest of the group, his back against one of the ledges, head tucked between his knees in case he had the urge to hurl again.

Moving towards their exhausted group, the young Warden began giving orders, her voice low. “Sten, Zevran, can you take Cailan down? Morrigan, Leliana, I’ll need you to start building a pyre, too. I’ll be over to help in a moment.” She could hear Alistair mumbling behind her, and she had the strong urge to check on him again. 

“He was my brother,” Alistair was whispering, his tone weighed with exhaustion. His voice grew louder as she drew closer. “After my mother died, and Maric died, he was all I had before I was sent away to the Chantry. Even then, we shared letters and he came to visit me. He was my _family_.”

“You have us now,” Lialya reminded, painfully aware that it was far from a comfort. Alistair and Zevran were constantly at each other’s throats, and Morrigan refused to get along with her fellow Warden. Lialya herself still missed her own family and her Clan; it was always a steady ache in her heart, each time she thought of them. They had to be far away now, escaping the Blight before it could reach them. Not for the first time, she wished she was fleeing with them.

“I want to bring him home. _Home_ , home.” Alistair blinked at her. “He deserves a proper funeral at the castle, with Anora by his side.”

“We can’t bring him home,” she started. “Not . . . Not in his state. The trip would be too long, and each time we made camp, we would hold the risk of attracting wild animals, or even Darkspawn whilst we slept. He would begin to bloat before we even got there, and Anora shouldn’t see it. She shouldn’t see _him_ like this.” She shut her eyes tightly. “It will be safer to burn him here.”

Alistair didn’t seem to have heard her. “He was my family . . .” He repeated bleakly, his gaze fixated on something she could not see. She wasn’t even sure if he had even heard her. Alistair didn’t react when she touched her lips to his sweaty forehead and pulled away. Lialya, despite her worry for him, began mentally preparing herself to begin helping Cailan down.

Her heart twisted as Sten and Zevran pulled the stakes keeping Cailan pinned. His skin squelched with each time they removed one, and thick blood sloshed onto the ground. Something rattled inside of him with each movement.

“What will we put him on?” Sten asked, not looking at her. His face was empty. He felt no emotion for what they were going to be doing that night. Cailan was not his king. 

Thinking quickly, Lialya moved to grasp a board that been abandoned to the left of Cailan’s stand. It was long enough, and hopefully strong enough to withhold the weight of his body whilst they could dutifully haul him to the pyre Morrigan and Leliana were building. She could hear the wood being clanked together as both women put the damp wood down together. Uneasy silence blanketed the bridge. Together, the three worked Cailan down; two of them pulling the staves that bound him and one of them holding his body up so he didn’t slump. They worked in turns, using Sten’s height to their advantage to get the ones that were higher up.

Before long, a pile of stakes were stacked beside them, blood glistening on each tip. Lialya could see splinters still dug into his skin, and though she had the temptation to pull them out, she resisted. It wouldn’t matter once they burned him. Between Sten, Zevran and herself, they managed to awkwardly maneuver Cailan’s rigid body onto their makeshift slab. Her heart twisted at the sight of his limp body. He was so full of life before . . .

Making up her mind, she pulled off her heavy furs, the winter gales immediately making her cold. She ignored it, instead choosing to drape them over Cailan’s torso. He didn’t deserve to be exposed as such. 

“I do not understand how you treat a king that is not your own with such respect.” Sten spoke again, and Lialya’s ear twitched. 

“I met him, and I found that I respected him. That is all there is to it.” She chose her words carefully. “He was a fine man, one that deserved respect, even from a Dalish.” 

Zevran seemed to agree. “I did not know him, but he looks proud. True royalty. Those deserving to rule in Antiva looked as such.” 

“That’s why we cannot burn him with this on his head. It’s mocking him.” Shards pricked her fingers as she grasped the crown firmly, and she tugged sharply, inhaling once the crown peeled away. Flesh and hair came with it, clinging to the shards, leaving a part of his skull bare and his temples raw. Her own fresh blood dotted his skin and his mocking crown. Lialya hadn’t even felt the pain the crown caused. 

Disgusted, she tossed the mocking crown over the side of the bridge. “Bring him to the pyre; don’t burn him just yet; I want Alistair to be there to see it, just for closure.”

Sten narrowed his eyes at her, yet Zevran dipped his head. He understood. Waiting until they had reached the rise on the opposite side, Lialya turned back to Alistair. 

He was already on his feet, looking at her blankly. “Is it time?” He asked, his tone rasping.

“Yes. We can go slow if you wish?”

They slid their arms together, their hands intertwined, both moving at a slow, somber pace towards the pyre Leliana and Morrigan had built. When they had arrived, Cailan’s body had already been set in the middle of the wood. Someone had arranged her furs so that it was covering his entire torso now, not just his waist. It covered all of his gaping wounds, thankfully. His hands were folded on top of his abdomen, fingers interlocked. Someone, Leliana most likely, had closed his eyes and washed the blood off of his face. His hair was slicked back, and his mouth was shut. Cailan looked peaceful, lying amongst the stripped bark; not at all like he had been mutilated. 

With a carefully timed, abnormally small firebomb, Morrigan lit the pyre. It blazed to life immediately despite the wetness of the wood, and Alistair groaned mournfully. During their walk, albeit, he had managed to recover himself enough to look composed.

“Cailan was a proud man,” he began, and Lialya shot Morrigan a nasty, warning look when she rudely coughed to interrupt him. “He was a fine ruler; too young to lay here, burning. May he find peace with the Maker, always have a full belly, be warm, and feel no suffering. Tonight, we honor him by sitting in front of the flames, and taking home his ashes.”


	2. against the tide.

Going sword–to–sword with the Bann was quite the challenge; one that Mysaki was indeed up for. Her heart ached each time their blades clashed, the sound ringing out amongst the clamor of the hall. The moment she had stepped into the castle dining hall and had seen him, she had known something was wrong. His body was contorting in odd ways, and the way his limbs jerked allotted her to believe that the creature inside of the young boy, Connor, had reached out to the Bann, capturing him in its steely grip. His voice had been unnaturally loud, and his words forced and chopped. This was not the calm and collected man whom had worried about the safety of all his people that she had met in the Chantry, this was someone else entirely. 

Cyan hues glimmered with rage as they met her own, and Mysaki was shocked by the intense hatred she felt radiating from him. Just the day prior, they had been flirting; closing the distance between their bodies as they conversed. He had seemed so interested in her, and she had reveled in the way his gaze flickered across her lean, battle–hardened body. Teagan hadn’t been hard on the eyes, either. She couldn’t deny her own interest in him, but now she feared that she would have to strike him down to end his suffering. 

“Teagan,” she begged, locking the muscles in her legs so that he couldn’t unbalance her with the force of his sword and his greater weight. They were parred evenly in the middle, their blades crossed, the metal making awful screeches. “Come back to your senses! Don’t make me hurt you!”

His only response was an enraged growl. 

“Forgive me, Teagan.” Mysaki hardened herself, knowing that she would be of little use if she tried persuading Teagan to snap out of it. She had long since blocked out the sounds of her companions fending themselves against the guards, knowing that they could protect themselves. Sooner or later, most likely sooner, they would need help. There were simply four of them, and at least eight guards. At _least_.

Unlocking her leg muscles, Mysaki pivoted back, whirling her sword away from Teagan’s. He stumbled, unbalanced by her weight disappearing. Quickly, she cast it down towards one of the tables and withdrew her dagger, her sharp ears twisting back in a feral way. She weaved in front of Teagan, watching as his gaze flicked nervously. She had picked up the weaving tactic in the Alienage; not only did it confuse enemies, but it gave the user a chance to discover weaknesses. Her dark hues darted to–and–fro across his body, eventually spotting a weakness in his left leg. The muscle sagged and twitched, and if she were to strike it, the blow would not kill him. He would simply collapse, and be incapacitated for a moment. Nothing too dangerous, he wouldn’t even bleed out. 

“You sneaky little mongrel!” Teagan spat, picking up on what she was doing. He moved to defend his weak point, but she was faster. Mysaki started to the right, then darted back to the left, digging her dagger right into the portion of the muscle that looked the weakest. His pants had already been torn by presumably one of the deceased they battled earlier, leaving his flesh bare. His skin split easily by her blade, and the cut she made was shallow; it would heal quickly, and leave no scar. 

Teagan was faster than she had anticipated, or perhaps he felt no pain in this state. When the cool metal blade first touched his skin, he had gasped in what she presumed was surprise, and then buckled as his leg gave way. But his blade dug deep into her hip, and she cried out, hardly breathing as she turned to examine the wound. 

Hot blood was already inching down her leg, and agony spread through her hip. The skin already looked inflamed and red, the amount of blood suggested that this one would be a bitch to heal. If he had been on his feet, he could have easily gutted her. Rage temporarily blinded her, and she slammed the hilt of her dagger down upon the crown of his head, watching as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Blood leaked from a split in his skull and dripped down his face. Teagan’s body lost strength as he slumped, officially knocked out; sword clattering loudly upon the cobblestone. 

“Back to back!” Alistair was yelling, and Mysaki stumbled towards their group. Her shoulders brushed his and Zevran’s as they closed in on each other, tightly closing ranks. Leliana was directly behind her, Mysaki could hear her panting with pain. “Stay close; don’t let them separate us!”

“There’s seven of them left!” Zevran growled. “Let us end this tedious work quickly.”

Next to her, Alistair lashed out, his swords neatly clanking as they sliced off the guard’s head. Zevran already had his sword embedded in a guard’s stomach, all the way up to the hilt. Leliana was slashing at two at once; despite her pain, she was moving freely. Mysaki, blocking out the agony in her hip, skillfully jammed her sword into the ribcage of one guard, and slashed at another, cleanly slicing through his abdomen. 

“Ah, fuck it!” Zevran broke rank. 

“What are you doing?” Mysaki yelled, fending off another guard. Her momentary distraction caused for his blade to slip dangerously close to the hilt of hers. 

“Finishing this once and for all, my dear Warden!” He yelled back, and slid into one of the most elaborate splits she had ever seen. All she could see was a flash of silver before the guard in front of her dropped. Another had joined the fray seconds before, blinded by the demon to attack them. He, too, fell; a blade protruding from his neck. 

Grimly, Mysaki turned towards where Connor disappeared. She had no comment for the assassin’s performance. “Now we figure out what we do with the boy.”


	3. happy endings.

“Anora, are you sure?” His hands were grasping her hips, sliding up and down her torso, never once breaking eye contact with her. His wife looked very pleased with herself; her bright, cerulean hues were gleaming, and she couldn’t stop herself from carding her fingers through his long, thick hair. 

“I hesitated on telling you because of how unsure I was at first,” she murmured, “but now that I really know, and are _really_ sure, I knew you needed to know.” Her eyes were beginning to cloud with emotion, and she smiled almost hesitantly. “We’ve been waiting so long for this, Cailan.”

“I know,” Cailan whispered, pressing his forehead to her abdomen. Just barely, he could feel the tell–tale bump of a baby beginning to grow. Already, he was beginning to revel in the idea of having a young child around especially so now that the entirety of the country was pressing for an heir. Even more so now that the Darkspawn threat was getting even worse, and the Grey Wardens were beginning to get concerned. “I know that this is just the beginning for us; the answer to all the stress in our lives.”

His sweet wife looked worried. “A child being brought up in the midst of war is not good. Remember how we were brought up? We despised each other up until a certain point.” Her gaze brightened with amusement. “And I am glad that it did, for I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” 

“Nor could I.” Rising, Cailan swept her into a tight hug, breathing in her comforting, familiar scent. “Let’s not tell your father. I feel as if he would only attempt to worm his way back into the grasp of the throne, if you did.” 

Anora seemed to agree with him. “I think our best bets will be to keep this to ourselves. After last time, I . . .”

A few years prior, early into their marriage, Cailan had and Anora had gotten pregnant. Within two weeks of Cailan knowing, she had lost it. No one truly knew what happened to her. One day, during a ceremony for one of their knight’s, she had collapsed on the stage with extreme abdominal pain. The healer had told Calian that any chance of her still being pregnant were incredibly slim. They knew within two weeks that she wasn’t; her spotting had been the sign that they had lost it.

“This time will be different.” Cailan promised. He stepped back from her, unable to keep his hands off of her. He was excited to finally become a father; he wasn’t going to be keen on rectifying Maric’s mistakes! “It will work out, I promise.”


	4. death wrought twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dragon age & arche age crossover

Slender, calloused fingers stroked through thick, blood–stained hair, waiting for Alistair to wake up. Sten stood rigidly beside them, his gaze flashing in annoyance, waiting. 

“When will he awaken?” His voice was very blunt. 

“Come time,” Lialya murmured. “His soul needs time to return to its body. Be patient, Sten.” Her heart twisted. Had she been too late? Alistair still didn’t stir, and his body remained ominously still. She would have wasted her ability for nothing and lost the only love of her life. “Alistair has always been different, right? It will simply take a little longer than it did for everything else.” 

“He brought you back.” Sten sounded practical. “As soon as he put it on your skin, you popped up.”

“A dog ripped out my throat; he got to me moments after I died. It will simply take a little longer for him, for I had to kill everyone before I was able to stop for him. Like I said, it will simply take some time.” She had her own doubts about Alistair and how his revival would go, but it didn’t matter. He would return! He  _had_ to return.

All of them had been backed into a corner, all separate and fighting for their lives. Though Lialya’s one leg was officially screwed to hell, and blood seeped steadily from her wounds, she could not focus upon herself when he was still in so much danger. Alistair’s entire head had been split open, and his brain splotched out upon the stones. His eyes were closed and his blood was stained all over his armor and his face. There were deep wounds crisscrossed across his chest. If he were to recover, he would be healing for a long time. 

“Come on, Alistair,” she whispered, lowering her lips to brush against his cold ear. “Let it bring you back; let it restore life to you.”

As if her words were some cue, his chest raised. It was a tiny motion, hardly noticeable, but it got her to move. 

“Sten!” She said sharply, hearing him grunt in response to her. “Give me the medkit!” Her one hand was extended, and she felt the small kit against her skin. The ability would only heal the wound that killed him; not the ones that would have, if the killing blow hadn’t been dealt. “Get Wynne! Now, go fast!”

Pulling out the gauze, she pressed it firmly on the worst of the wounds on his chest, watching his face for any signs of life. She couldn’t feel blood; nor could she feel his heartbeat, but he was beginning to revive. Albeit slowly, it was happening all the same. Applying more pressure, she closed her eyes, willing for his blood to flow. 

Alistair’s nostrils flared, and air whistled through them. 

Very slowly, his fingers twitched, and his shoulders began to shift. His eyes flickered behind his lids, and his blood began to flow. Alistair was groaning, starting to write underneath her. 

“Stop, Alistair. Stay still; you’ll need your energy to heal.  _Stop_  writhing.” She moved one hand to card through his hair, worry choking her. If this didn’t take, he would die. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the mark burning upon his skin, allowing its magic to take hold. “Let the magic work, let it heal your head!”

The part of his skull that had been missing was healing itself. The bone was stretching to meet the others and reconnect, whilst his brain was beginning to grow back. Both his skin and hair were covering the parts that were already finished, cautiously beginning to creep across the injuries that remained. His entire head was knitting itself back together, piece by piece, little by little. 

To her great delight, the wound she was covering was healing itself as well. His skin squelched and blood gurgled as fresh, unmarked flesh crawled across his ribs to cover the gaping wound in his chest. His heart beat very quickly, and he was not yet conscious, but he was  _alive_. He was breathing raggedly, and his mouth was opened now; his eyes were screwed shut, and gradually, his body tensed. 

“Alistair, you _must_ relax. Stop fighting the magic.” She pleased, reassured to find that his skull was back to normal. Her fingers met no empty space where the wound once was; the only way you’d ever know was by the blood in his hair, and the brains mixed in with it. 

“Lia . . . lya?” He rasped, his eyes flickering open. “My tongue feels . . . Too big for my mouth.”

“That’s normal,” she laughed, relief washing over her. “Very normal. Don’t sit up; take it slow.” Lialya moved so that she could rest his head in her lap and keep her legs wound around his body. He was still cool to the touch, and he seemed stiff, but otherwise she knew that he was going to be  _okay_. Alistair would not die here. “How do you feel?”

“Bruised; very battered, like I was kicked in the face many times by Sten,” he grunted, casting hazy hues onto her face. “You look pale.”

“You scared me.” She answered, carefully avoiding his question. 

“No, like you’ve lost blood.” Alistair started to push himself to his feet, but collapsed back, panting, when she resisted, using her arms to slowly ease him back down. “Where is everyone else?”

“Leliana, Shale, Morrigan and Zevran went off deeper into the cavern. They’re clearing the way for us, we  _need_  that other stone or else we’ll have failed. Sten went to go get Wynne so she could heal you. Gamira . . . She didn’t make it. Between an animal and you, I  _had_  to choose you.” Lialya’s voice burned with intensity, and her throat remained choked. 

Alistair’s eyes misted over. “She was a faithful dog, up until her last. Where is she?” 

“Wynne took her corpse to be buried. Gamira would only attract more of those things and cultists, we have to get back on the move, soon.” She touched the mark on his skin, relieved to see that it had faded completely. It was a small scar now, a blemish that only they knew existed. The magic finished fixing whatever it was going to. “Can you stand?”

Together, both managed to find their feet; Alistair leaning heavily on Lialya. Slowly, they moved, Alistair hardly having the strength to put one foot in front of the other. He was heavily favoring his left side, where he had been run through, and he wheezed with each step. She was worried: if he were truly back to being himself, he would have cracked a joke by now, right? Yet he remained somber, thinking about something she wasn’t welcome to know. 

“We must bring the stone back to the village, and end this entirely.” Strength flooded Alistair’s voice, surprising her. “The cultists have to be stopped to save Nuia, and win our war.”

“Nuia and this war can wait! It almost killed you. I’m just asking you to rest for a moment, get your strength back.” Lialya guided him to a makeshift bench and set him down. Crouching down in front of him, she pressed the back of her hand to his cool forehead. “You don’t feel as if you have a fever, and you look focused; do you remember what happened?”

Alistair looked thoughtful, though she could see pain glimmering in his gaze. “I was blindsided,” he admitted. “One moment, I was fighting through the pain of having a sword in my chest, and the other . . . Well, a spiked mace hit me as if I were a baseball and next thing I knew, I was on the floor with my brains spilling out. Now I’m alive and my dog is dead and the king is going to be  _very_ disappointed, and I don’t know what to say to make all of it better.”

To speak of the king, Alistair’s half–brother, Cailan, Lialya felt her heart twist. The war–hardened man was unhappy with the way he had been treated by his father–in–law, and with the way that his war was going. From what Alistair had told Lialya was that Loghain had betrayed Cailan; he had informed northern spies of when would be a good time to attack, and had driven Anora, Cailan, Alistair and Duncan away from their home. Duncan never returned, though Cailan, Anora and Alistair took their castle back and disposed of the spies, and had Loghain hung. The southern half of Nuia had more reason to fight now, seeing as how far the northerners were going to kill Cailan.

Now, two years later, Cailan and Anora had two daughters; Lyvya and Rowan. The young princesses were a drive for Cailan to fight harder, to split Nuia completely in half and reclaim what was his.

* * *

_There cannot be two kings; one in the north, and one in the south. It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Cailan pressed, staring hardly at Alistair. Both had been arguing for the past half an hour. “I have not asked you to get behind me on my war plans before, but I need an experienced warrior. I need someone doing what normal soldiers can’t.” The king narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. “You are my closest advisor, and my younger sibling; after what Loghain did, you are the only one I can trust with this.”_

_Alistair looked uneasy, his gaze darting around. “What would this job require? If it means that I have to start dancing in a pink slip drunk on mead in front of you during a private session, I will be inclined to refuse.”_

_Amusement flashed across Cailan’s features. For a moment, he didn’t look like the weathered king that had completely lost his innocence. Instead, he looked like a young man; you would not be able to tell what he had gone through during the time of his betrayal if he did not have this ugly, pink, rough scar that furled itself from his left eye and down through his cheek. Truly, the southern king was handsome, and once upon a time his personality was as well. War has hardened his heart, and betrayal had made him increasingly wary._

_“I promise, it does not require that. I know your Elven companion does not share our interests—”_

_“You’ve got that right,” Lialya glowered at Cailan. “This isn’t my war.” She had only been compelled to come due to her own curiosity of what Cailan was like. A part of her was let down. She had been expecting him to be much like Alistair, not like one of the leaders of their Tribe._

_“But you’re with my brother, which officially makes it yours.” Cailan flashed back, his voice inviting no more argument from her. “If we were to split Nuia in half, we can reduce the amount of time that it takes for soldiers to cross the lands. More often than not, they get attacked whilst in route, and our ranks thin each time we send expeditions out. It takes too long to train our budding young warriors, and we are utterly underfunded. Two kings are always stepping upon each other’s toes, and we are never in agreement. Wars we could handle on our own, if we were not bound by this stupid contract. If we split, our countries would truly thrive by standing alone. Besides, it was not me who started this war.”_

_Lialya narrowed her eyes. “No, it was your father.” Maric had the same ideas, and had put the idea of betrayal in Loghain’s head when his first son became king._

_“Exactly. Which means that I_ will  _be following it through. I want my daughters to grow up in a better world than this one.” Striding around the table to face Alistair, Cailan looked sincere. “I am asking you, not as your king, but as your brother, to do this favor for me. Please, Alistair.”_

_Alistair and Lialya exchanged a look. She kept her expression blank. This was his decision to make, not hers._

_He swallowed hardly, his anxieties and fear washing away into clear resolve. “Okay . . . What do you need of me?”_

* * *

The memory passed through her mind at the mention of their king, and she hesitated with an answer. “We tell him the truth; we failed. We won’t be able to get the stone, not like this. There’s just too much to do, and we’ve already lost someone, and you almost died.” Grief made her tone thick. “I won’t risk you to finish what Cailan started.”

“We  _have_ to get that stone!” Alistair protested. “If we don’t get it, Cailan will have nothing to fight the northerners back, and we  _all_ will be hung; even his daughters. Do you want that?”

“No, I don’t. But I won’t risk you. Tell him to send others to get it; a more tactful force. We can put our talents to other good uses.” Lialya’s voice invited no more argument. “You already died, and so did I, trying to get things for Cailan. It’s over. The stones are a lost cause.”


	5. like lovers do.

“And where is the Warden–Commander?”

His voice is terse, emotion underlying those words. Lialya can hear him, even from her hiding spot. Yet, she refrains from going out to confront him; her hands clamped down over her mouth, and she tightly closes her eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to stream down her cheeks. As much as she wanted to see him, as much as she wanted to  _be_ with him, this was for the best. This  _had_  to be for the best.

“I don’t . . . know.” Oghren sounded confused. “She was just here a moment ago.”

“How do you  _not know_?” The King’s voice is sharp with worry, fear underlying his words. She can see his face clearly in her mind, see the way his eyes crinkle with annoyance, the way his mouth tightens with worry.

“Don’t get your panties all in a twist,” Oghren snaps. “She couldn’t have gone far. I’m sure she’ll be back at some point; probably heard some Darkspawn scufflin’ around or somethin’ and decided to take care of it.”

Back during the time of the Blight, when they were both young and taking on the responsibilities of the world, they had only been too keen on entering in a relationship. Both had been so fascinated with each other; they would spend long nights inside of their tents, examining each other’s bodies and exploring what it meant for them to be together, a human and an elf.

Sometimes, late at night, she could still feel his calloused fingers creeping along her shoulders and up her throat; gently gracing the nape of her neck to tilt her head back in order to bestow the kindest of kisses upon her lips. The very notion of how far her imagination would go to recreate what she had with Alistair was alarming.

In the end, when Loghain had struck the final blow upon the Archdemon, both she and Alistair had realized the same thing: Ferelden needed a King  _and_ a Queen, not just one. That night, both exhausted and horrified after the battle, they had argued until the sun rose the next day. They had come to an agreement, albeit; Alistair could not run from his blood and his position any longer. He belonged on the Throne, and he belonged with  _Anora_ , not her. 

He had fought her on it, albeit; even though he  _knew_ that she was right, he had fought her tooth and nail. Brokenly, she had sacrificed her own happiness for the good of her home.

* * *

_“But, you can be Queen! We can get Anora off the Throne and marry together,” Alistair pressed, his tone high_ – _pitched with stress and pain. “If we put our minds together, and we truly tried, we could do it.”_

_“Do you not understand?” Lialya flashed back, her gaze glimmering with fresh tears. “I_ can’t  _be Queen, I’m a_ Dalish _! I am Dalish through and through; there is no trace of noble nor human blood in my veins. An outcast can’t be a Queen, Alistair. The people would riot and overthrow us within moments. It’s not safe for me, and it wouldn’t be safe for you. I can’t put you in danger like that.”_

_“What about what_ I _want?” Alistair’s voice is hard. He had truly grown up in the months that they had spent together; he no longer allowed anyone to push him around, or to tell him how things were. He wasn’t going to let this go so easily. For a moment, Lialya regrets encouraging him to be a better version of himself. “What about what_ I  _want, Lialya? I don’t want to be King, I want to be with_ you _!”_

_“Well you can’t have me!” Lialya yelled, her voice cracking, and then breaking. “You can’t fucking have me anymore! You have a duty to Ferelden as Maric’s only living son.”_

_His dark eyes flashed with malice, grief glimmering in their depths. “I wish I had never been born to him.”_

_“Don’t say that,” she protested, but he cut her off._

_“I wish I didn’t have_ Theirin  _blood running through my veins; I wish I had been born normal, and that this wasn’t a situation we were in, and I wish that this conversation wasn’t happening.” His voice was bitter, and he looked truly torn. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I can’t lose you, I_ won’t  _lose you. Don’t make this happen.”_

_Brushing her hands underneath her eyes, she wiped away her tears, slowly shaking her head. “It’s going to happen, Alistair. It has to happen. You_ will  _marry Anora; you will be King of Ferelden, and everything will be fine. We will be over, though. We will be done. No more . . . us.”_

_“You’re breaking my heart,” he whispered, tears spilling over his waterlines. They ran clear tracks in the dirt, blood and grime that caked his face. His blood_ – _stained hands ran through his messy hair, his eyes screwing tightly shut. “Is there any chance of changing your mind, or of an . . . ?”_

_The word was better left unsaid. What he was going to say was ‘affair’; he wanted to know that if there was any chance of them sneaking around, of hiding their relationship yet again. She knew, deep inside of her that it would cause more harm than good. She’d be desperate to see him, desperate to be with him everywhere but behind closed doors. It would only bring more harm for the both of them and nothing more. There was no chance that she would ever want to recreate the situation with Cailan and Alistair; she would_ never  _wish that upon anyone involved. The answer had to be no._

_“I won’t have an affair with you, Alistair.”_

_The words are said firmly, and she’s shocked by her own resolve. Lialya would have expected herself to have burst into tears, crying and clutching at anything to keep her grounded. A distant part of her wondered if all this was simply a dream, but then she’d be waking up in her bed right beside Alistair, hyperventilating and trying to determine whether or not she should tell him as to why she was breaking down. Yet, the reality of things and the burning agony inside of her told her what she feared was true; it was true. All of it was true and real as anything else; as real as killing the Archdemon._

_“I will_ not  _have an affair; nor will I be entertaining the idea of one. Do_ not  _ask me again.” A harsh tone enters her voice, and Lialya regret it as soon as she watches his eyes grow wide with shock. “You will be faithful to Anora and Anora alone, Alistair.”_

_The glower that he gave her reminded Lialya of the childish nature he still managed to retain, even now. Even if she did think that he was fully hardened, ready to assume the burdens of the kingdom, she knew that he would always retain that childish‘I-would-rather-pout-and-make-sharp-remarks-than-do-this mind set._

_It was something she would always love about him._

_“I can’t walk away from you.” Alistair’s voice was trembling. “I won’t.”_

_“I can.” Lialya’s voice was soft, yet it was hardened with her own resolve to do what was right. An icy numbness spread inside of her body, and her tongue felt too big for her mouth when she spoke. Words still dripped like venom from her tongue. “That’s what I’m going to do right now, before I can get sucked into another argument.” She strode forward, feeling her hands shake, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to his dry lips._

_As soon as she was in the circle of his warmth again, Lialya knew it was a mistake. His arms were wrapped around her waist and hers around his neck, their foreheads touching and lips molded together. He reeked of blood and sweat, and even fear; yet he tasted of love, grief, and loss._

_One of her hands was fisted around his shirt, and the other in his hair. Alistair, on the other hand, had her backed up against the wall. It was hunger spurring them on; a desperation for one last good memory before she ended it all together. Lialya didn’t even know if she had the strength to peel herself away from him. Alistair was like a second skin, where she went, he went. They moved together and stuck together as one, forever and always._

_Albeit, as soon as Alistair’s tongue brushed against hers, Lialya found it within herself to slither out of his grasp and put distance between them. Her dirty face was flushed with color, and her lips stung like fury from the desperation between the two of them. They were beginning to bruise, and her battered body felt even worse than it did. Alistair’s hands roaming across her skin had always felt pleasant, but it only aggravated both new and old wounds in their calloused wake._

_“I’m sorry,” was all Lialya croaked, forcing herself to turn away and stalk right out the door._

* * *

“Lialya?  _Lialya_! Warden–Commander!” Someone was yelling, and dully, Lialya registered that it was Anders. The mage was looking for her, his voice growing louder. 

Since she had begun reliving the memory, she hadn’t realized the change that had taken place. Now, she was sitting upon the ground, her knees pulled against her chest, face buried in her kneecaps. Her back was firm against the wall, and her watery azure gaze was watching the door across the way, praying to the Creator’s that no one opened it. 

“Warden–Commander, someone is here to see you!” A door opened nearby, and Lialya flinched, well aware that she only heard one set of footsteps.  _Good_. Anders had come to search for her alone. 

The doorknob to the room she was in creaked and the door cracked open. Anders poked his head in, his long hair free from its ponytail, spilling over his shoulder. His face immediately paled when he saw her, and she pressed a finger to her lips, silently begging that he kept his mouth shut. She barely knew the mage, yet he seemed kind–hearted; he would keep her secret. 

Anders nodded, understanding what she wanted, and he clicked the door shut with a fluent sweep. “ _Warden_ – _Commander_!” He yelled, his voice holding a sing-song tone. “Where  _aaaaaarrrrrreeeee_ you?” 

Relieved, Lialya leaned back against the structure behind her, aware of how she might look. Her face was flushed, and her eyes must be swollen from crying. She was hiccupping from her breakdown, and she found that her chest felt as if it was collapsing upon her lungs. A part of her wished that it was the case; it would be a welcome distraction from the swelling of her eyes, and the aches she felt all over her body. 

“You couldn’t find her?” She could hear Alistair’s voice, rising and falling with anxiety. “No sign of her?” 

“None.” Anders confirms, his tone serious. 

“She’s always been flighty,” Oghren muses, his tone gruff. “Just let her be.” 

“. . . I was hoping I would . . . never mind.” Alistair’s voice is broken, welling with disappointment. “Things are going well here, yes? Things will be getting back on track soon?” His tone was business–like now.

Lialya forced herself to calm down, taking steadying breaths. It seemed as if his visit was drawing to an end. 

“Oh, shut up, Alistair.” Oghren snorted, and even Lialya winces at the informality that the dwarf uses. “We all know how it ended. It’s no damn wonder she doesn’t wanna see your ass.” 

“Oghren,” Anders cautioned, his tone tight. 

“Keep yer’ mouth shut, Anders.” Oghren snaps. “If she took off, she took off because she can’t face you. You’re both fuckin’ stupid.” 

“I believe that we are.” Alistair answers this time, however, his tone distant. “. . . I will be taking my leave, now. Give the Warden–Commander my regards.”

Listening to his all–too familiar footsteps clicking away made Lialya’s heart break even more.


	6. we all float here.

“My Warden,” he called, and I turned, fighting back a shudder that tried to ruin my almost perfectly composed appearance. My lover, whom I had not accepted lightly at first, reminded me far too heavily of a certain Antivan named Zevran. They had the same air of mystery, but he — the man whom I have now invested myself in — seemed dangerous. Zevran had been easily manipulated, putty in my hands as I worked him to his full potential. Thelven was unreadable, and almost primal. He scared me at times. His dark eyes were almost always carefully blank, and I presumed it was because of his life as a traveler. He must have seen some truly awful things during his life, a part of me felt for him. I understood what it was like to see horrible things unfolding before you without any strength to stop it. My travels as a Warden left me scarred. Sometimes I thought that I would never come back from some of the things I’ve witnessed.

But  _why_  didn’t I trust myself around him? When I had been with Tamlen and Alistair, my guard had been down completely. I had trusted my instincts and my emotions completely. They encouraged everything that was good and pure to blossom within me, to show them my most vulnerable sides without any fear of judgement or pain. I could tell them anything, show them anything, and they’d respond in a lively manner. I could read them, I could predict them, I could sense what they would do, or how they would react.

Thelven made me second guess myself, and tear down all the carefully constructed walls I had spent so much time on. I could never get a read on what he was feeling, or what he had planned next, and it struck an uncomfortable amount of fear within me. I knew I was in trouble; I had isolated all of my friends, including Leliana, and began playing a game with the ever-unaware Alistair. My only reasoning behind going to this stupid party had been to make him jealous, to show him that I had not given my heart over to him solely, that I was capable of loving again. 

I hated myself and the game, but I had to play. My developing petty nature was driving me to hurt him, even though I had been the one whom had broken us up to begin with.

“Yes?” I asked, carefully keeping my gaze as blank as his. I never showed Thelven my emotions, not if I could help it. He frightened me and I couldn’t help but keep my guard up. It was exhausting. I don’t know how I managed it all the time. He can read me, I can feel it when my guard is down. All he needs is a quick glimpse of me and he already knows what I’m thinking, or what I’m planning. It made me even more unnerved to be around him.

“I just wanted to say that you look simply stunning,” his accent distorted his voice. I had the sneaking suspicion that his kind words were forced. “You would certainly be turning heads tonight.”

Involuntarily, I flush. I was never the fancy type; even as a young girl, I always donned armor and hailed weapons as my favorite source of amusement. My mother figure wanted me to be more feminine, to eventually follow in the Keeper’s footsteps and hold myself with such a regal pose, but I was only too happy to sneak away with Tamlen to learn to hunt, to fight, and follow in my father’s footsteps into an early grave. I didn’t mind. I preferred dirt and scrapes as opposed to chores and leading. My mother figure always found it aggravating, but she loved me all the same. I still remembered the horror on her face when she realized that I had to leave, that chances were, I would never return to the Clan ever again. I still miss her. But, even whilst I was young, I felt most at ease with armor shielding me and a weapon at my side than in fancy dresses. 

Tonight, albeit, I had no choice. I knew I was plain looking. I was more of an athletic marvel, not a beauty queen. To call me such would be an insult to those whom were holders of natural beauty. Mine was all forced. I was only too aware of how tomboyish I was as well: with my lean, hard body, narrow hips and shoulders, small chest, and rough calloused skin donned with an assortment of scars. My body screamed to anyone who looked that I was a survivor of a rough life, who led one to make sure that those with soft bodies were able to live without knowing what I knew. To make me stick out even more, my ears were a constant, stark reminder of who I was. 

Who I  _am_.

I did not look like the women who worked at the Pearl. They were all curvaceous, soft, and beautiful. Their hair was always well done, and their eyes always gleamed with falsified lust. Their chests would be enunciated, drawing attention to them. Lips puckered with red stains, long lashes batting, skin glowing. I found myself envying their easy, seemingly natural beauty. I could never achieve that in my life, not even if I tried. 

I had ended up forcing myself into a dress. It felt foreign and unnatural against my skin, and rubbed in all the wrong places. My new wounds were aggravated by the silky fabric, and I hated how I looked in it. The tight, silky fabric made my hips look rounder, fuller. My small chest looked nice and full in my breast binder; the soft, supple flesh spilling over the glimmering ridge of the dress. It made me look like a lie. I was not curvaceous. I did not have extra body fat to spare. I was a lean, strong warrior, borne of hardships and hard work. This dress led people to believe that I was soft, and underneath the fabric they would find a body that remained untouched. It was a  _lie_.

The dress length fell down to the middle of my calves, and even though I knew this party was going to be safe, I still had a dagger strapped to my left thigh. I was glad that it didn’t show through the fabric, but I felt the cool metal burn against my skin, reminding me that it was there if I should suddenly need it. It felt abnormally wonderful. The dress style was colored a deep, Grey Warden blue; the hem and lace being bright gold. I had tight, black wedges on; I missed the feel of my comfortable leather boots. I was surprised that I was not stumbling all over the road. I had never been able to walk in heels without finding myself off-balance. 

My hair usually was tied up in a knot, or pulled back into a ponytail or braids. Tonight, it was down, left to rest. My long, rib-length tri-colored locks hung loose, looking soft and silky for the first time in months. I actually enjoyed the way it looked. Leliana, reluctantly, had helped me with my makeup. In my own opinion, I thought I looked ridiculous. My eyeliner seemed too dark, my eyeshadow too vivid, my lips too red; I hated it. Thelven seemed to enjoy it. I had pretended not to see his eyes roaming hungrily over me when I had been getting ready.

“Let’s just go inside,” I said, a frown gracing my lips. I didn’t trust Thelven. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. “Will you feel awkward in there?” I asked, deciding to ignore my mistrust for the time being.

“Will you?” His gaze was simply curious. “I know you and the King have . . .  _history_.” The word implied that he knew more than what he was saying.

I stiffened. I had not spoken to Thelven of my issues with Alistair, but he had guessed. He had come with me to a few events, always in my shadow. I knew he had seen my longing glances towards Alistair, and heard my strained conversations with him whenever we did converse on the rare occasion. I hated how he still made me feel as if I were inadequate, and nothing more than the Elven girl he had a brief affair with years ago. That was all it was. An affair. There had been no deeper feelings, no ulterior meaning to the time that we had spent together.

After all, our loyal King needed to be faithful to his Queen. It was what Ferelden had deserved at this point.

“I’ll be fine.” I said curtly. I had managed to steel myself against my feelings for Alistair; I could look at him without crying, nor without feeling a wave of inadequacy choke me. I hated how I was still in love with him, even after all this time. I had thought that my feelings would die down over time, but they had become simply bitter. If there was a way that I could forget that we had ever been together . . . ever loved like we did . . . I would do it in a heartbeat. “We need to make an appearance at some point tonight.” I said, taking my mind off of Alistair.

Mostly, for the entirety of the party, we stayed on the outskirts. We had missed the meet-and-greet with the King and Queen, which, I supposed it had been my subconscious intention all along. I knew Alistair had seen me. I could feel his gaze burning holes into my dress. To my credit, I never turned to look at him. Not even when my heart begged my brain to just turn around, face him once more, show him that I still cared. I had ignored my heart, downing another drink to keep up my liquid courage to remain in his presence, but not acknowledge that I was there for him. 

As Warden-Commander, I was going to be attracting a lot of attention regardless. I carried on conversations with a lot of different people whom I would soon forget. They wanted to know about many things, mostly about my time as a Warden and what I was currently doing with Ferelden’s young, whom had joined the organization to follow in my footsteps. I spoke with Anora for about an hour as well; the young Queen treated me as a close friend, even though I knew we had our unspoken issues. I ended up cutting it short with her once I saw Alistair making his way over, making some sort of excuse about how I needed to get a drink. Anora had known. I could not hide from her sharp, searching gaze. I knew she had her issues with us, but I also knew that she did not feel threatened by it.

“It’s time for a dance,” Thelven whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my earlobe. He interrupted my conversation with one of the servants. “Then we can go?”

“I suppose so,” I murmured, giving a quick apology to the young elf girl and allowing Thelven to lead me to the other dancing couples. His calloused thumb was running across the flat of my hand, and I almost found it reassuring if not for the dark, secluded look in his eyes. My heart pounded in my throat. Not from nerves, but from uncertainty, fear.

My gaze involuntarily traveled to Alistair. I could see him watching me, and a sense of satisfaction rose within me. I gripped Thelven’s hand tightly and breathed in deeply as he pulled me close to his chest. The fear and uncertainty was gone. Alistair still watched me, and I didn’t think I wanted him to stop. Besides, wasn’t this apart of my game? Guilt pricked me, and I felt heat flush across my face.

Thelven brushed his lips up the column of my neck, and I sighed audibly. Our bodies moved in sync as he twirled me across the floor, my fingers tight around his own. I lost myself to the beautiful intricacy of the dance, revealing in the feeling of Thelven pressed against me, and Alistair’s burning gaze scorching my skin. I knew I would regret this; I hated making him jealous, and I hated showing off, but I felt I had to. My guilt could be ignored for the time being.

All of a sudden, I was unbalanced. Only one of my legs were on the floor, and I wrapped my arms around Thelven’s neck in order to regain my balance. Amusement furled itself across his face, and he brushed his lips against mine; his mouth warm and familiar. I went with it, deepening the kiss and feeling his tongue brush against my own. We stayed like that for a moment, his arms propping my upper body up and our mouths welded. I no longer felt Alistair’s burning gaze on me. I felt . . . empty, without it, despite Thelven’s lips capturing mine. He could not spark in me what Alistair did.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked breathlessly once our lips were parted. My mouth was dry, and I wanted to just go home and figure out just what I was going to do about my stupid situation, but I knew Thelven would make me open up about my performance tonight. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to address everything I had been avoiding all these years.

“I am ready when you are,” Thelven answered. “Are you finished showing off?”

My lips furled into a wry grin. As an answer, I pressed my mouth to his as he put me on my feet. My stomach dropped once I was upright again. “Was that a good enough answer?”

“For me, yes.”

Lacing our hands together, we said goodbye to our friends and acquaintances before we headed outside. Immediately, the cool air flooded across me, soothing the knot of anxiety inside of me. I relaxed. Together, we headed towards the direction of the house we were currently staying in, and yet I couldn’t push away the sense of foreboding. Even when Thelven pulled his hand away, and slipped behind me — presumably to keep a lookout from behind — I couldn’t help but frown. Something was wrong. My intuition was screaming at me to grab the blade, to parry whatever was about to catch me off guard, but I ignored it against my better judgement.

“Do you know what it’s like, having to play you every single moment of every day?” Thelven’s voice is as smooth as velvet, and I freeze, hearing the dangerous edge to it. The small hairs on the back of my neck pricked, and as I made a move to face him, fire blossomed across my chest. It started between my lungs, and spread to every particle of my upper body, successfully making me feel as if I were being torn to shreds. I didn’t know what was happening. Time seemed to slow as I keeled over temporarily, my hand pressing between my breasts to lessen the pain.

Stunned, I looked down, surprised to see the tip of a blade glistening with blood.  _My_  blood. 

“You’re . . .” I couldn’t catch my breath enough to talk clearly. I forced myself to stand upright to the best of my ability, throat choked, “ _traitor_.”

“ _Nooooot_  a traitor,” Thelven held his hand up, his eyebrows pulling together in amusement. I wanted to smack that look right off of him. “A Crow. Where Zevran and others failed, I will succeed.” His fingers carded through my hair, and I stumbled in an attempt to get away from him. I lost my balance, my hands instinctively reaching out to brace myself against the nearest object, which just so happened to be siding to a house. The stone scraped my palms, and I flinched, my skin prickling. I could feel my own blood rising in my throat, and streaking down my back, soaking my dress to my skin. I could taste bile. My head was spinning.

“They told me I could go wild with such a thing. Seeing with how devastated you were, I decided to take my time.” His fingers flicked the dagger still in my back, and I visibly recoiled as the pain got worse. “It was quite fun. I pretended to care, pretended to listen. You were only too easy. Emotional manipulation is what I’m good at, after all. I can’t believe you actually let me in. This was quite the experience. I can use it for my next contract.”

Tightly, my eyes closed. He  _lied_  to me! All this time, all the times I had thought I was doing something right and good for myself, and my intuition had been right all along. Thelven was the first person I had accepted into my bed since Alistair and I had ended up parting. I had taken everything incredibly slow; made Thelven work for every little move that he had made. The irony that he had chosen tonight to finally end me was incredibly surprising. I hadn’t even noticed it before, but I was vulnerable. I had showed him my most sensitive side, let him see my weaker self. Tonight was the best time for it. 

Rage burned white-hot inside of me. All I knew was that I was angry, and I was so upset; I wanted to get that smug grin off of his face, make him feel what I was feeling. After all this time, I still haven’t realized my own strength and speed. I had cut my thigh with my dagger by how quickly I had ripped it out of its sheath and I plunged it into the crook of Thelven’s jaw, right between his jaw and his arching cheekbone, driving the blade right up through the tendons and the muscles of his face. I knew my face must be twisted in an ugly, pained fashion, but I could not care. He looked astonished, his gaze wild with shock. He had not been anticipating that I would have enough strength to best him. I loved the feeling of satisfaction that spread within me, though it did not last long, for my strength was already beginning to fade fast.

The way his skin molded and rippled to accommodate the new addition to his face could have been comical, if not for the dark spots clotting around the edges of my vision. My lungs ached as my legs gave out from underneath me, casting me right down onto the hard ground. I fell upon my knees, one hand bracing me from falling upon my face whilst the other cast aside the dagger in favor of pressing against my chest in order to stop the seemingly endless stream of blood. Distantly, as if he were miles away, I heard his body land with a solid  _thud_  beside me. I could feel his blood beginning to lap at my fingers. He was dead. Out of the corners of my vision, I could see what I presumed to be his eyeball popped out from its socket. 

I gagged, blood dripping from my lips, feeling the rage evaporate from my body along with my strength. A sudden desperation replaced everything, and I found myself dragging my upper body forward; my blunt nails scrabbling to get a grip on the dirt and cobblestone underneath me. I felt the sudden urge to live, a new strength refilling me. 

“Come on!” I hissed to myself, aware that I couldn’t feel my legs. They seemed to trail uselessly behind me. I hated the way blood felt against my skin and tasted in my mouth, but my own desire for self-preservation kicked in. My brain was split in two: on one hand, I wanted to just bleed out, and on the other, I wanted to live. I wanted to have the Crows send someone else after me again, so I could kill them, too. I could, and I would, kill every assassin that they sent my way. I would make an example out of their failures.

The option to die seemed to win. The darkness was far more comforting than the fact that there was only far more pain for me to endure. I gave into the comforting embrace of the dark, my body losing the last of its strength before I had even managed to drag myself five feet.

* * *

Hazy shapes flickered behind my closed eyelids. One voice, female, spoke. She was always speaking. Though I could not make out her words, I could always hear her soothing, musical voice. I could hear her; I could hear her so clearly. But I could not make out her words. Distantly, it frustrated me, but I was too drowsy to fully feel the blunt force of the enraging feelings.

“Little Warden, it’s time to wake up.” The same voice said, and a hand touched my hair. My eyes screwed up, and I forced them to finally open, startled to see a bright white light streaming into my eyes. I immediately closed them again, and the voice sounded again. This time, she was coaxing me, a desperate edge to her voice. 

“No, no, wake up. You  _must_.” There were hands on my face, and I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t bring myself to speak yet. My throat was raw, and my tongue was dry. I could only cough in response, struggling to get my brain to cooperate with my body. Everything was sluggish. I felt as if I were fighting to kick my body back into motion, rip it from its deepest rest and force it to start.

Holding my breath, I forced my eyes open. I met the light head-on, barely refraining from flinching. I was almost stunned by the beauty of it. My gaze traveled in search of the voice, and I almost smiled when I saw her. I don’t know what made me want to smile, what comforted me enough about her to even begin assuming that I could manage a smile.

This woman was clearly Elven, but she was not Dalish. I could always tell the difference between the City and the Dalish Elves; she was softer looking, her eyes less vividly colored than my own. This woman’s bone structure was just as sharp as a Dalish’s, but there was human bloodlines in her. Her tight, frizzy, curly hair was loose, the tangled locks glimmering in the bright light. Her emerald, bright eyes were locked upon mine, and I paused, unsure of what I was supposed to say. She was simply cast in shadow, so I couldn’t see her clothes or her body. All I could see was her face.

“Who are you?” I rasped, and I saw a flash of amusement in her eyes.

“Ariasa,” the woman answered. She had no accent. Ariasa was from Ferelden, thankfully. I don’t know if I could have handled another foreigner. “I know you are Lialya. You must have questions.”

“Why aren’t I dead?” I immediately blurted. A soreness pulsed between my breasts, and I winced. I regretted letting that be my second question, but I didn’t bother to take it back. I wanted to know.

To her credit, Ariasa didn’t look surprised. She moved closer to me, taking a seat by the bed. Her robes swished with every little movement, and I wondered if she were a mage. I presumed she was. A wound like my own would have only been healed by magic. One, bony finger touches the exact sore spot between my breasts, and I leaned back, my eyebrows raising. I did not know how to react to this woman. She was brazen, but she was sensual. I tried not to read too much into the little, casual movement, but I could not help but be startled with how forward she was. 

“You . . . wanted to die?” The woman asked, head tilted to the side. She seemed genuinely confused. “I wasn’t expecting that.” My gaze remained steady, and she sighed, deciding to answer me. “You aren’t dead because of my magic.”  _Score one for my intuition,_  I thought bitterly as she spoke. “I found you bleeding out beside a dead body. I recognized you at once, and I brought you home. The Warden-Commander shouldn’t die by betrayal; it should be when her Calling comes.” She sounded so matter-of-fact. How she knew about a Calling, I didn’t know. She didn’t explain, and I didn’t ask.

I closed my eyes. Ever since I had lost Alistair, I had prayed to the Creators that I would get my Calling. Sometimes I felt as if there was an irresistible urge drawing me back to the Deep Roads, but it had to be my own imagination. It always faded before I could be sure. But I had wished with every part of my being that it were true. I would never be truly happy without him, and that was just fault of my own. I had come to realize that over the years.

“The entirety of Ferelden must think you’re dead by now.” Ariasa continued, and my heart-rate picked up.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, accepting the water that she offered me. I greedily drank. What she had said had not sunken in yet.

“Two weeks. They held a funeral for you last week.” Her voice was grim, and I couldn’t help but shiver.

I closed my eyes. My breath rasped audibly in my chest. I didn’t know what to say in response; if they held a funeral for me . . . I could barely hear her words behind the throbbing of my pulse. It dominated my hearing, and I felt tears prick my gaze. I was dead. I was  _dead_. Ferelden didn’t know any better! At this point, I didn’t even know if _I_ knew any better. I could be imagining this entire thing.

“Warden, it’s not over; I didn’t heal you. All I did was seal the wound.” Ariasa touched the spot again, and I bit back a groan. This time, it hurt. “The blade broke inside when I tried pulling it out. It’s stuck. I still have to get it out. I couldn’t remove it earlier. I needed you to be awake for that.”

Before I had a chance to answer, to ask her to repeat what she had said, blinding pain awoke inside of me. I couldn’t bite back a shriek. I found that my hands were stuck at my sides, and I could hardly stand to even move my head. Ariasa’s dark gaze remained focused, and she seemed oblivious to my agony; only simply choosing to throw herself completely into her work. Despite my pain, my gaze was sharpened with keen interest. I could see the tip of a blade beginning to push its way through my chest, through the already scabbing wound. Before I could stop it, I had whimpered, unable to hold such a thing back. I felt embarrassed for letting such a sound leave my lips, but Ariasa didn’t even acknowledge it.

Ariasa viciously grabbed the blade, blood spreading onto her fingers. She pulled it out through my chest, and I shrieked again, my throat absolutely raw. As soon as it was out, albeit, the pain stopped. The wound healed itself over again, and everything felt clearer. It was almost as if it never existed. My breathing was getting clearer, and my head felt as if it were no longer splitting. I collapsed back onto the bed, pressing a hand against the already-scarring wound, getting my breathing back under control.

“That’s why I needed you to be awake.” The mage examined the blade before placing it down on a table. “Albeit, you’ll have to stay here for a few more weeks, perhaps a moon. I need to keep an eye on that.” 

That did it. My mind was made up. “I can’t stay.” I tried to push myself to my feet, but my legs felt numb. Along with Ariasa’s help, she pushed me back into a comfortable position on the bed. I growled in annoyance at having to remain bedridden. “I can’t pretend I’m dead. I have to fix this. This isn’t right.”

The mage shook her head. “My apologies, Commander; all you can do right now is send a letter to inform that you are not dead, nothing more. Anything more could endanger your health.”

“Why do they think I’m dead?” I asked curiously, figuring that I would send word to the Wardens soon. Not now. I needed to think of what I would say. Did Alistair know if I was dead? He had to know. It would be impossible not to. My heart twisted in my chest.

“I’m an apostate, the man you were with was a Crow. Put it together, you’d die without my magic, and someone would come looking for you and kill me, thinking that I aided in helping someone kill you.” She stretched, and I frowned at where this was going. “So I used a bit of magic, kinda . . . glamoured a body and such, and — well, you’re dead!” Ariasa actually looked a bit nervous. Her eyebrows knitted, and my frown deepened at what she had done.

Traitorous thoughts filled my brain, and I closed my eyes. No one but Ariasa and I knew the truth; if I wanted, I could cast aside all responsibility until my Calling came. I could stay dead. I could escape myself and my responsibilities. I could sacrifice my name, my past, my life. No one would ever know the difference.

But . . . that wasn’t me. I wasn’t that type of person, I actually had a sense of responsibility, and an overwhelming feeling of guilt. I would never feel right about my decision, no matter how much pleasure and relief it brought me.

“I’m sorry, Ariasa,” was what I ended up saying, “I’m grateful that you did so much for me, but I . . . I can’t stay dead. I have to go. I have to go back to the Wardens.” I pretended I missed the flash of disappointment in her eyes. The crushing realization of my decision and the burden of what I still had left to do settled upon my shoulders.

The first thing I had to do was visit the Wardens in person, and call a hearing with the King and Queen. I needed to show the world I was alive. 


	7. touch my soul.

The first kiss was something inexplicably special.

Unlike the kisses that came to follow, the first belonged in its own category, for there was never another like that one. The kiss that was the father to the rest, that allotted them the chance to show each other just how deep affections ran could not be recreated. Boy, did they try, but it was nothing like what they had once experienced.

First kisses often are an accident, as this one was. Instead of a drunken mistake, a calculated plan, or a loss of will, this kiss was purely by chance. Blood had been boiling with excitement, hearts pounding, eyes locking from across the battlefield. It felt as if the Wardens were connected; thoughts merging into one as each move became purely instinctual. 

A hand graced against a nape of a neck, and hands found their place along hips. Space between two bodies was closed within simple moments, and lips came to be touching. It was sensual, chaste, even a bit searching. At first, it was just a touch of the lips. A simple molding of skin that led to deepen the kiss, both eager to explore each other’s taste.

Both tasted of blood that belonged to them and the Darkspawn, of excitement, of curiosity tinged with the bitter taste of fear. Movements were synced, for as one threaded her fingers along damp strands, the other cupped flushed cheeks, running calloused thumbs along stained skin. 

Nothing to follow would compare to the breathlessness that followed; the smiles that pulled up swollen lips, the glow in their eyes once they parted, unable to hide the nervous laughter that bubbled from their throats. Hands would come to be intertwined, both seeing the other in a new, fresh light.

The kisses that came to follow were still as important as the first, yet never could compare. Kisses of greeting and goodnight, kisses of intimacy that followed to kisses of lust, kisses of sadness, kisses of comfort. Kisses of good luck before Darkspawn battles, and then the final kiss that was the most important; the kiss of goodbye as both forced themselves to face up to the enemy that had been antagonizing them for longer than they could recall.

But, even through that, no kiss that could be shared between the two would _ever_ live up to that first one. Not even the kiss that confirmed their union.


	8. darkness everywhere.

Nightmares never were the Warden-Commander’s strong suit. 

As a young girl, she hadn’t had them. Whereas her twin suffered from surreal night-terrors, and often woke her with his agonized cries and his desperate thrashing, she had never truly experienced them until the Taint had loomed over her head, twisting along the edges of her mind and changing her idea of reality. The nightmares she had during the three days that were a blur of physical agony and unintelligible voices, she couldn’t seem to completely recall. She could briefly remember seeing Tamlen’s face, Camcen’s, Lehel’s, Fenarel’s, Merrill’s, all twisted in absolute agony, and that had been enough for her. The childish part of her wanted to believe that she would never have another one, but the logical part told her that she would eventually have another.

Those nightmares hadn’t returned until after she had become a full Grey Warden, with the Taint subdued and her mind subjected to all the horrors of what she was currently facing. On the road with no one but Alistair, Tamlen, and Morrigan for company, they had taken their limited chances to rest whenever they could. With Tamlen on watch, ready to howl when there was any sign of danger, Lialya had managed to settle down for a quick nap in her private tent. That night, images of Darkspawn and the Archdemon had plagued her mind; disturbing her rest enough until she felt as if she were falling through a thick void of nothingness. She had jerked into an upright position and realized that she had simply been dreaming, but was thoroughly shaken.

With reassurance from Alistair came the heavy information that this nightmare was only the beginning of many, Lialya had been resigned to her fate. Long days on the road left little time for nightmares, but thanks to the Taint’s connection to the Darkspawn and the Archdemon, time spent for rest was time spent lying awake. Arms would often be crossed over her chest in an attempt to crush back the oncoming swell of panic that would lead to breathing problems, and involuntary tears. It was surprising that she went on as long as she did with such little sleep; her body eventually did collapse at the worst of times, but always when they were in the safety of camp. 

When she had started sharing her bed with Alistair, the nightmares and insights that plagued her mind seemed to evaporate. Just being wrapped up in his strong arms with his chin on her shoulder, and his warm breath tickling her neck, sleep had come very easily. Though they shared a tent, a bedroll, or whatever else they had slept on, they never did much that required intimacy. Nights spent wrapped up completely in his arms were her favorite. His familiar scent brought her good dreams. Dreams of a future with children and mabari, dreams of traversing Thedas, dreams of a future that would never be.

Some nights, the nightmares would return, even when she was tucked up so safely and comfortably. She’d awaken with a sharp gasp, body trembling and coated in cold sweats; thoroughly unable to realize that she was safe, and not in any mortal peril. Sometimes, Alistair would wake when she did, offering meager words of comfort. HIs hands would rub her arms, and he’d press tender kisses to the back of her neck and to her temples, telling her that she was safe, and that she was going to be just fine. Others, he would remain asleep, and Lialya would fight her instinct to panic, and force herself to calm down before she disrupted his rest. He needed sleep just as much as she did. It was selfish to expect him to wake up every time that she found herself tormented.

But since the destruction of the Archdemon, the nightmares had momentarily ceased. Things had . . . things had also changed. Leliana had disappeared, she had left little word of where she was going, but Lialya had the sneaking suspicion that she went to confront her demons in Orlais, despite remaining with the worst of them during the Blight. Zevran had returned to Antiva for his boots; or, so he said. He would return eventually when he grew bored. The group that had become her second family had dispersed back to where they had come from, or had gone off to pursue their own dreams. It was the least that she could expect; to have them remain with her was unkind. The Blight would not last forever, and neither would their rebel group.

Whereas she? Lialya found herself still involved with the Grey Wardens, and was now their elated Commander. She found herself back in Oghren’s company, and that thought pleased her immensely. Though she would never admit it, Oghren had been a hilarious addition to their title group, and she regretted not going to Orzammar much sooner to recruit him. Anders, a mage whom made his escapes from the Circle quite frequently, also had been conscripted, and despite his outward stingy appearance, he was a kind, thoughtful man. Though he would never really fit in with the others, she appreciated his company and his snarky remarks. She hoped that at some point in the future he would see sense in confiding in her, but it was just a waiting game until he decided that he could trust her.

Alistair, now, was King. He ruled over Ferelden well, with Anora as his advisor. Eamon had returned to Redcliffe to console Isolde and Conner, with Teagan at his side. Denerim had been completely and utterly repaired, and a time of peace spread across their country. Not enough to fully please Lialya, but enough that it . . . it was nice to see people of separate races getting along for once. Who knew what a Blight could accomplish!

Because Lialya was Dalish by birth, and her bloodline could easily be traced all the way back for generations, she was not permitted to become Queen. Ever. Ferelden as a whole would never stand for that. The Warden organization also commanded that she stay unbiased when it came to politics, so again, she couldn’t. In secret, after the Blight was over and before he had been coroneted, she and Alistair had gotten married. When she was in Denerim, they would spend nights together, and often she would be able to convince him to neglect his royal responsibilities just to spend more time with her before she had to return back to the other Wardens. After all, moments shared between them could never last too long. They had to take advantage whilst they had the chance.

In spare time, when they went months without any physical contact, they wrote letters to each other. At parties, they would sneak away together, then return when it was most important. Everyone had to know about their still-continuing relationship, but neither of them seemed to care. Neither would marry another, even for public appearances. Soon the topic of an heir would come up, but that would be a bridge to cross later. Perhaps the Creator’s would bless Lialya and give her a pardon, a way to start her own family and show the rest of Ferelden that Elves were not the creatures that humans thought them to be.

Nevertheless, those were all issues for the future. Days when no one got upon their backs to do their duties were to be cherished. Alistair could spare time to sneak out to the fort to spend a few days with her, and Lialya could trust her subordinates to properly deal with the Wardens-to-be without scarring them for life. Sometimes intimacy would be the first thing on their minds, sometimes it was gentle touches with tender kisses that practically screamed longing. Others, it was hushed conversations in secret alcoves, or cliché story-book dinners that were almost too good to be true. Each was a stolen moment that they would end up repaying at a later date.

The best thing of it all? Lialya had not had a single nightmare revolving around the Archdemon since it’s destruction. She had had smaller ones, ones that she could forcibly wake herself up from. Her mind was _finally_  free. Most nights she had the bliss of a dreamless sleep. When she was with Alistair, she dreamed of what could only be their future in another universe. Humanistic dreams; ones that contained items that could not possibly come from their current way of existence.

This moon was one of the more relaxed ones, if she were being quite honest. She had no requirement to be all strict and business-like; she was more of a friend to the recruits than their strict instructor. She could not say what it had been like for Alistair back in Denerim, for all she had were a few letters that were weeks old. He seemed to have little time to write to her these days, and it bothered her to no end. She missed his soothing words, paired with his promises of a rendezvous soon.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen Alistair since the mid-summer party, during which there had been no time to sneak away. Lialya had been ensnared in conversation all night, tossing impatient looks at Alistair, who had the same expression and thoughts as herself. His own conversations were just as rushed, and though he kept trying to make his way to her, there had just been too many obstacles. It was now the Eve of Fall, leaving close to two moons that they had spent apart. No contact being shared between them. Lialya had lucked out, albeit; Alistair had personally shuffled things around so that he could make a trip out to the fort and stay for a week or so. Possibly longer! Her heart pounded in excitement at the thought.

He had arrived that afternoon, and after dinner, neither had seen fit to move from her bed. Not when the linens and pillows called, not when the warmth shared between the two was just too tempting to pass up. No one had come to disturb them, so they were alone. It seemed that this was the fated night that Lialya’s nightmares returned, but this time worse than ever. Everything had been far too good for the time being, things had been on her side; it was due time that something bad happened. It had started with an increase of her heartbeat, and a small, hitching gasp, and then she was stirring whilst she slept. Fingers clenched and curled into her palms, nails slicing at the calloused heels. Her skin was slowly beginning to turn white from the pressure she was applying, as were her knuckles. She didn’t know how she managed to squirm out of Alistair’s tight, loving embrace, but she didn’t feel his warm arms around her any longer.

The linens underneath her were soaked down to the featherbed with sweat, and her skin was clammy. Her body ached from tossing and turning, and later then tensing and instinctively flexing her legs and arms out. Teeth ground together, attempting to bite back cries that still managed to spill out from her chapped lips regardless. Behind her closed eyelids her eyes were darting to-and-fro, viewing horrors that only she could see.

At first, when the nightmare had been starting, she mumbled. Words had been unintelligible, and she did it every few minutes. Now that she was able to see faces flashing across her closed eyelids, distinguishable words spilled out. Blurred and mulled together, but distinguishable all the same.

“Tamlen . . . No, don’t touch that — don’t touch . . . don’t touch the mirror,” she begged, her voice rasping and catching. She could see him reaching for the glass, clear as day. His familiar, beautiful face flashed to the ghoulish creature that he had become, and then back again. She could feel his gaze burning into her skin, as if questioning her as to why she didn’t try harder to keep him from destroying himself. Why didn’t she move faster, why didn’t she beg more? Why didn’t she save him? “No, no, I have to . . . I have to stop you . . . don’t — _no_!” 

The image changed, and she was faced with Lehel. Her twin brother had sweat flattening his dark hair to his head, and blood seemed to unrealistically pour from his mouth. It was a crimson tide that began pooling at her feet, lapping hungrily at her boots. She could barely make out his words when he spoke. Startled, she leaned forward to hear him better, feeling panic tear her heart to shreds.

“Lia . . . ly . . . a . . .” He groaned, his bloodied hand reaching for her. The Warden-Commander could feel his hot fingers graze across her skin, as if he were there with her. Blood was left in his fingers wake. His azure irises rolled within his head, and his body threatened to give out as he stumbled closer. She could feel his breath hot upon her skin, the blood from his mouth dripping upon her boots.

_Drip, drip, drip._

She could hear it, clear as day. It echoed within her mind, tearing at her eardrums. Lialya fought to clamp her hands down over her ears to just get it to _stop_ , but, her arms would not raise like that.

“Lehel, no, no,” she cried, her voice straining. Her body began to writhe on the bed. She could feel the damp linens clinging to her skin as she moved. “I can’t — no, you’ll be fine!” Slashes seemed to blossom across his torso, and Lehel’s eyes stretched until they were nothing but rings of white tinged with red surrounding the startling bright azure. “Let me help you!” Lialya wailed, but it was as if she were paralyzed; she couldn’t apply pressure to his wounds, or console him. Nothing wanted to work for her. “Please, don’t leave me! Don’t ** _leave me_**!” Her voice rose to a strangled cry, desperation burning a pit within her stomach.

Images flashed faster behind her eyelids. Tamlen, ghoulish and deceased, his black lips peeling back over his rotting teeth. His customary blond hair was gone; leaving his head bald. The trademark tattoo upon his face was nearly swallowed whole by the ghoulish purple hue that dominated his skin. He looked as if he were one giant bruise, but his flesh was so hot to the touch. So, so hot. She could barely stand to hold onto his wrist for too long, for she feared that she would burn her fingers. 

Lehel, bloodied and terrified replaced Tamlen. Her twin brother was standing, but he was writhing against nothing; his body contorting and twisting as he screeched. His skin seemed to become translucent, and Lialya could see his organs pulsing unnaturally. His lungs throbbed up against his ribs whilst his heart thrashed around his chest wildly, until it broke free from its bony prison. The vision of him did not last long.

Leliana, eyes clawed out and throat torn open. Her hair was cropped even shorter than it usually was, and when her mouth fell open, Lialya could see her eyes upon her tongue. Biting back a scream of terror, Lialya was forced to watch as her mouth clipped shut again and as she swallowed, her eyes sliding down her throat until they landed upon the split skin of her throat.

Zevran, head nearly decapitated and tendons of his neck exposed. His amber hues were horrifically glazed upon her, his lips pulling up into startling chilling smile. His tendons pulled and stretched as Zevran’s head flopped bonelessly to the left, and then to the right; all the while fresh blood spilling down his bronzed skin.

Tamlen, back twisted grotesquely and maw parted in a soundless wail of agony. From the ominous way Tamlen’s full, mocha hues were locked upon her cued in to the fact that he was indeed dead. But the twitching of his paws and the wriggling of his nose suggested otherwise.

Oghren, skull split completely in half and brain exposed. He was still alive, crimson dripping down from his long hair and coating his face. His eyes were so stark and brilliant, fixated completely upon her. His mouth moved, but no words coming out.

Sten, legs sliced cleanly off. The Qun pulled himself towards her with his strong forearms, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. She could see the bone, the muscle and the tissue of where his legs had been removed.

Anders, face mutilated to the point of where she hardly recognized him. Underneath the blood and the muscles, she saw what was left of his mouth pull up into what could only be a smile, his teeth clacking together as if he were anticipating biting her.

Wynne, her back turned towards Lialya. When she turned, her staff had been shoved through her chest, eyes blinking with confusion. Her chin was bloodied, and blood foamed at her lips; her body collapsed as her strength gave out.

Morrigan, a small hole in her throat contributing to the choking gasps that ripped from her red-tinged lips. She collapsed to her knees, her hand pressed against the hole, but by the way her body shook and the way she fell completely down to the ground, she was dead. 

Anora, her neck snapped. Her bones cracked as she moved, and her head swiveled as if she were finally free. Lialya could hear the cracking echoing within her head, and she just wished it would _stop_.

Shale, a simple pile of crushed rocks and crystals. It seemed to be trying to piece itself back together, the rocks trembling as they tried to form, but it only succeeded in making itself even dustier than he was before.

Teagan, tongue hanging out of his mouth and ears missing, leaving gaping red holes in his skull. Upon closer inspection, she could see that his eyelids had been pulled off; leaving his beautiful eyes bare for all to see.

Last, but not least, Alistair. He was sliced open from hip-to-hip, his arms cradling the spill of organs that seemed to want to slide out through the gaping opening. His eyes were blank, glassy. To Lialya’s horror, his chest was sliced in two; the flaps that would cover his breastbones and his lungs were being peeled back, revealing his starchy ribs and his pink lungs. His crown was sat lopsided upon his head, flecked with blood. In his hands he had the rose he gave her, and his mother’s amulet. The rose was crushed, the petals fluttering to the ground. The amulet seemed to glitter in a sinister way, as if it were mocking Lialya. Mocking Alistair. “Help . . . me . . .” He pleaded, but to no avail.

The images flicked in order, one right after another. They seemed to get more grotesque as they flashed by; finer details were added. Maggots writhed amongst their organs, or in their eyes and open mouths. Black flies flew around and sat on their skin. Their lips would begin peeling back over their mouths, their teeth were beginning to turn black. They began to decay.

They flashed faster now, faster and faster. Alistair’s popped up more and more frequently, as did Lehel’s and Tamlen’s. Their faces were being burned into her memory, making her unable to forget them. She was sure that she was sobbing out their names as their faces passed, but she had no way of telling. She could feel their names breaching her lips, and feel her guilt completely choking her. They were dead. They were dead and it was because of her. She couldn’t save them. She failed.

Hands upon her shoulders woke her, and before Lialya knew it, she was screaming. Raw sounds were being pulled from the back of her throat. The pressure she was applying to her palms let up suddenly. Tears streaked down her cheeks, spilling consistently over her waterlines. 

“I couldn’t protect them,” she was crying out, “I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t protect _you_! I failed!” 

Alistair was holding her wrists, and as her gaze cleared enough so that she could see what was in front of her, she saw his worried expression pulling his beautiful features down. His eyes were wildly searching hers, seeming frightened by her outburst. Her clammy body was held tight against his, almost as if he were afraid that she would hurt herself in her writhing. Alistair’s face was pale, and he looked exhausted as if he had been up for a long time. Yet, as he calmed, she found herself slowly beginning to come down from whatever panicked state she was in. Not enough to be able to speak coherently, but enough to gain control over her movements again.

“I failed. I failed, I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save any of you,” she repeated in a broken voice, hiccups breaking through after each word.

_“You’re a Grey Warden; everything you love will become everything you lose,” Wynne murmured._

_“Is it better to just not love at all? To break off all my relationships to save them and myself from the pain?” Lialya asked in return, knowing that her voice sounded sharp._

_“You can’t stop yourself from falling in love, or seeking out friendship. But, you can save dear Alistair the pain of what’s to come,” she held up a hand when Lialya made a noise of warning, “he loves you. I can see that you love him, too. You must remember that you have a duty as a Grey Warden, not everything is going to be like this.”_

Wynne’s words echoed in her mind, and Lialya moved so that she was tucked into Alistair’s embrace. Her arms wrapped around his torso, her face buried in his bare shoulder. Her tears dampened his skin. One of his hands was stroking her hair, whilst the other rubbed soothing circles into her back. She was trying not to hyperventilate; her dream had been wrong. He was alive, he was right here; she could see him, smell him, feel him.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, his words grounding her more. “It was just a dream, I’m here, I’m real. It was just a dream.” They stayed like that for a little while, her tucked up in his arms and him soothing her with touches and words. Even after she stopped trembling, hiccupping, and her tears dried up, they still stayed in that position. Alistair never complained, just continued to comply until Lialya forcibly pulled herself away. 

As she pulled back, Alistair’s hands slid so that they were cupping her cheeks. His calloused thumbs brushed away the remains of her tears, and she leaned into his palms, glad for the warmth that he silently offered. Now that the cold sweats had also passed, her body was cold with nothing but one of his shirts on. It was still soaked in places, despite the warm air in her room. Her hair was sweaty, and she still felt shaky, but she was still considerably calmer than before.

Gently, his lips brushed against hers. Closing her eyes, she touched their foreheads together, mulling over what she would say to explain her outburst. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “I know.”

“You get them, too?”

“Not like that, but, I . . . I know.” She could hear the pain underlying his voice. “Believe me, I know. I’m so sorry.” 

“Usually you being here keeps them away, but this time it didn’t work.” Lialya squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. Her voice was shaking. “I just . . . I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save _any_  of you.”

“But I’m actually here,” he reminded. “All of us are still alive because of what you did.”

“You too, it wasn’t just me.” She opened her eyes to find him already looking at her. His knuckles were drawing down her jaw, lightly brushing against her skin. “You were a big part of it.”

Alistair exhaled. “Okay, so the both of us saved the world.” His knuckles drew back down her jaw again. She tried not to shiver. “I’m going to try and save yours, too.” 

Lialya tightly shut her eyes again. “I love you, Alistair, so much. I don’t think I would be able to survive if anything happened to you.” She whispered, fighting back the growing sense of grief. “I lost Tamlen, and I lost Lehel; don’t make me lose you as well.”

His hand slid against hers. Alistair’s fingers fit between the spaces perfectly, as if they had been meant for each other. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, their edges fitting only when they’re together. Everything about him brought comfort and love to her. She hadn’t realized how much she missed him during these past few moons. When it came time for him to leave, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to handle it, she needed him far more than she had ever realized.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	9. ma vhenan.

Alistair didn’t know when he fell in love with her. 

They had been invited to share camp with the Dalish, she seemed too excited to be amongst her own people again, and her excitement only made Alistair more curious to see what she had been like before she had become a Grey Warden. It warmed his heart to see her look so natural, not at all like a sore thumb. In Redcliffe, and in Denerim, she was simply just a _knife ears_ ; an Elf that was presumed to have been released from the Alienage. She looked too rough to be a servant, and yet she was still treated like trash, regardless of her title. With the Dalish, albeit, she was perfectly at ease. 

Elvish flowed so freely off of her tongue. She had looked so natural; the corners of her lips lifting up into the widest, happiest smile he had seen on her lips. Her eyes had been nearly unrecognizable, they had been bright, gleaming with friendliness and love. For once, she wasn’t tensed. She was completely at ease and she laughed far more than what he had ever heard before. There had been something so natural about watching her interact with the other Dalish, it had been a side of her that he had never seen before. Even when she had been conversing with Elves in the Alienage, he had seen wariness and hesitation pricking her voice and her eyes. Albeit being of the same race, they had been a different species to her. As much as his beloved Warden tried to hide how she truly felt, she could never hide completely from him. 

She was so kind to everyone she came across; her friendliness inspired things inside of him. Even though his quarrels with Morrigan never seemed to end, he found himself trying to be nicer to her, even to Zevran and Sten as well. Albeit, it was hard to be kinder to Sten: the Qun seemed determined to keep them all at arms-length and undermine them at every single turn. Zevran seemed confused by the kindness, and he tended to flirt with Alistair when he became uncomfortable. Morrigan still responded in hostility, yet it didn’t get under his skin like it used to. After each encounter, all his Warden had to do was look over at him with an amused look in her eyes, and he’d immediately soften.

“They’ll come around, _ma vhenan._ ” She would say, pressing a kiss to his temple. He still had no idea what the words meant, and she wouldn’t tell him. When he would ask her, frustrated, she would deny, and then murmur: “ _Ma serannas_ ,” flashing an endearing grin his way when he snorted in annoyance.

Early that morning, he had felt her slip out of their shared tent. Though they weren’t officially in the Dalish camp, and merely on the outskirts, that didn’t seem to bother his Warden. She carried herself confidently, and if she weren’t wearing such distinct armor, he would lose her amongst everyone else. She fit in so well. He, Morrigan, and Zevran were the sore thumbs now. 

“Lialya,” he called, hurrying after her. “Wait.”

“ _Mythal’enaste_ ,” she purred, leaning forward to press her lips to his. Surprised, he immediately kissed her back, utterly relaxed as she brushed their noses together. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve never seen you so happy before.” Alistair frowned, watching as her gaze darkened. 

“I know this isn’t my home,” she began, twining their hands together. Her skin was just as weathered as his, yet she was still several shades lighter. “ _Abelas_ , I miss my Clan very much, and my mirror image, or, as your people say, _twin_. Being here brings back many memories that I . . . I miss my home. Very badly. Everything has moved and changed so quickly; this is the closest I’ll get to familiarity for a long time. I just want to feel like I belong. Ever since I left, I feel like I have been drowning in an abyss of blood, gunk, and gore; when I was back home, I was treading in clear waters, sure of myself and knowing what I was doing. I’ve only felt this way here, and at times with you when we can be together, but I . . . This isn’t home, I know it isn’t, but I so desperately want it to be.” Her voice trailed off. She seemed aware that she was rambling, and a sense of affection rose inside of Alistair.  

Though he had no idea that she had a twin, he couldn’t be surprised. He was aware of the fact that she had an elder brother, whom had met his demise when a strange sickness ripped its way through the Sabre Clan, but that’s all he really knew of her family. She hardly spoke of her time with the Clan, or of her first lover. _That_ was a subject he was not allowed to touch. Lialya would immediately clam up, making excuses about how she had other things to do. He worried about her when she got like that, for she began to grow distant. Albeit, she’d open up whenever she was ready.

It had to be this place. This place had to have been where he truly realized the extent of his feelings. It was still too soon to say what he truly felt, he didn’t want to scare her off. 

“You’re homesick, even though you’re in a place similar to your home,” his eyebrows knitted together. “I can understand how you feel. You don’t need to apologize, or stop talking if you think that it’s going too far. You belong in an environment like this because it’s one of the only ones you’ve ever known. It wasn’t fair to you to make you leave.” 

“If I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have met you, _ma vhenan._ ” She whispered. Their foreheads were touching now, fingers interlocked. They were so close that he could feel the quivering of her exhausted muscles. 

“Will you ever tell me what that means?”

“Hm?” Her eyes fluttered shut, and Alistair took his chance to admire her simple beauty. She wasn’t like the working girls at the _Pearl_ ; she was not curvaceous, and she didn’t trouble herself with makeup. She wasn’t like the noble women, with their fancy dresses and their soft features. No . . . in most eyes, she would be considered simple and plain, but in his, she was so tragically beautiful.

Dark eyelashes resting upon porcelain skin, rosy lips pulled up into a soft smile, no hard lines of stress or anger pulling at her features. Right now, he loved her more than he could ever begin to explain. There were no words. 

“I don’t think so, _abelas_ ,” her eyes opened again. “Soon. All I shall tell you that it is a . . . term of endearment, as your people say.”

So secretive! Rather than push again, he just squeezed her hand. “I can’t wait to find out what it means, my love.”


	10. the subtle grace of gravity.

It’s five years after the Fifth Blight that something concerning happens.    

Made King and Queen, protectors of Ferelden and Commanders of the Grey, Alistair and Lialya rule. Surprisingly, there had been little uproar over an Elven Queen. No Crows were contacted in order to take her out, nor were there too many riots. Having an incredibly involved Queen, someone who the people could relate to and bond with, had certainly helped her case. She had supporters in every city and little town, so any little sign of rebellion rising was quickly crushed by those whom adored her. It was both humbling and touching to see that so many would support her relationship with the bastard Theirin heir, and her unusual claim to the Throne. Yet, it still grieved her to know that she had almost given up this chance, _almost_ being the key word. If she had not foreseen the possibility of such a wondrous outcome, she would have let Alistair slip from her fingers.

In five years, Denerim had been rebuilt to a point in which it was completely unrecognizable. Everywhere else that had been destroyed by the Blight was beginning to reach its former state, and Lialya had filed a motion for the Alienage’s to be completely dispersed of. They had an Elven Queen now, a Dalish, Elven Queen, what was the point of separating the races anymore? Many cities had already gotten rid of them, by decree of the new Royal Law, but some still fought the new Law just to simply keep to the old ways. The four-year battle was beginning to wane thin, with more cities giving way, but there were still some to let go of their past. The Dalish also had a protection Law put on them; no human was ever again allotted to track them down and kill their people for sport. Any crime against the Dalish was now punishable by long-term imprisonment in a new cellblock close to the guard’s station in Denerim, or, if severe enough, by death. Lialya herself already had executed a few who broke this Law, but she had become laxer as less and less crimes were committed against her people.

Many things Alistair and Lialya had been called over the years. Elven sympathizers, traitors, heathens, but in truth, this had been building for many centuries. This fight had been an ongoing one for so long that she forgot its original origins (was it Andraste?) . She had been anticipating the negative backlash of these Law’s when she had been writing them, yet she hadn’t been anticipating how much positive support there would be. So many banded together to get Elves actual jobs, rather than having them remain as servants. The castle now had less staff than it did prior to the Law, but it didn’t matter; both were so used to doing things themselves that they didn’t mind it just being them. There were still hate-crimes, but those would never be abolished entirely. Now, albeit, Lialya was now working on a new Law to band all the leaders together — the King of Orzammar, Dalish Keepers, Arls and the Theirin’s — at least once a year to go over Law’s and anything that sounded important. Hopefully by the next year it would be an active Law that all the Leaders of Ferelden could come to respect. 

The Wardens were beginning to swell in ranks again; Lialya had never seen so many of Ferelden’s youth in one place! Children she had encountered, so many children whose lives she had once saved, were ready to give their lives in service to their country. Few have perished to the Darkspawn blood in the mixture, and for that, she was glad. The more people that they had within their ranks left little pressure on herself and Alistair, they could focus upon their royal duties without having to stress over splitting their time between both. Lialya trusted Oghren to run things in her absence. 

As it had with Anora and Cailan, the issue of an heir had indeed come up. No one truly knew which one was the one whom was unable, but Lialya knew that there was no chance for either of them. The Taint wiped out everything within her, excluding her old connection with Lehel. She and her twin brother still remained linked, even with all that she had undergone. 

On the note of a child, there had been once over the years that she thought she was pregnant. She had felt the change inside of her, felt the growth and the warmth, but it had not . . . ended as well as she hoped it would. By the second term, it became evident that the Taint destroyed the fetus within. A premature birth caused for days of labor, fingers curled into Alistair’s hand as wails ripped from the depths of within. In the end, with a Healer gently explaining as to what had happened, any chance of conception would just end in the same way. Blood steadily seeping out, no solid body being born, the grief of birthing something that never had the chance to live. After that, they agreed; it was time to be more careful so nothing like that ever comes to happen again.

Five years, things had run almost as smoothly as possible. Five short, stressful years. What happened wasn’t even something that had been expected; it came out of the blue, shocking even the Dalish Queen.

Alistair, doing one of his hundredth coronations for some of the young knights, always had held a giant ceremony for such. All of Denerim had gathered, ready to view their lovable King say age-old words. A speech was given, young knights were booted up the ranks and pleased. Just as Alistair was beginning to close, saying how proud he was of his country and how his people have turned out to be, a strange feeling spread throughout the Dalish Queen. She had simply chosen to curl her fingers into her palms, keeping on the lovable expression, staying right beside Alistair.

Her head had begun swimming, and her eyes had become unfocused, but she still stood tall and proud, unchanging and praying to the Creators that she would not pass out. If she could just hold out until the ceremony was over, she could deal with this once they got back to the castle — 

Weakness had blossomed in her knees, and thus rose to her spine. Her muscles gave out as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, body feeling the cruel grasp of gravity. Screams erupted, attacking her eardrums as she fell, being the last things she heard before things became a crushing blackness. She could swear that Alistair had dropped beside her, his hands searching her face as he yelled for help, his panic striking her in ways that she could never imagine. But there could be no words to reassure him, nothing to be done to tell him that she was _fine._

_“Our Queen is with child, that is why she collapsed!”_

_“The Taint is killing everything within, that is why she collapsed!”_

_“She’s dying, we’ll be sitting vigil for another royal soon.”_

_“It must have been the hot air; I can’t imagine an Elf would be able to survive living in such heavy clothes!”_

Rumors flew whilst their Dalish Queen was thoroughly unable to defend herself and give her side. No, she was not with child, no, she was not dying, no, the heat did not get to her; something else had been creeping along the edges of her mind, beginning to pull at the seams of her physical connections. Four days were spent underneath the suffocating blackness, and once she had roused, she knew what was wrong.

 _Lehel_.

She could feel it in the depths of her bones. Both were connected by old magic; when both had been born, inheriting the sickness that their parents and their elder sibling had, the only thing that had been able to save them was old Dalish magic. With their twin empathetic-connection and the combination of this magic, they could feel each other’s emotions, each other’s pain, even each other’s thoughts on rare occasion. Her days succumbed to the Taint had been extraordinarily painful for Lehel, and his days healing from a deathly infectious wound had rendered Lialya immobile for weeks. This had to be what was going on; something was wrong with her twin, and she couldn’t bear to think of what it could be. Though his pain had only managed to paralyze her in the past, it had never knocked her completely unconscious for days on end. The amounts of agony she had endured were highly similar to the Taint, but she knew that it couldn’t be happening to her brother. There was no way he could have come down with it!

No, he had to be . . . he had to be — 

“Where are you going?”

Alistair’s voice was demanding, stilling. Lialya paused as she finished adjusting her shirt, fingers toying with the stray threads. He didn’t sound too happy to find her out of bed. Though her body was aching, and her limbs screamed in protest with every little moment, she couldn’t rest with the thoughts of Lehel being deathly injured, or even dead. There was no way she was going to sit in their bed and taking no action to find out.

Five years of being pampered had diminished her strength considerably. Out of habit, she longed to crawl back into their bed and let him hold her and tell her that everything was going to be absolutely okay, but that was _not_ going to happen. She had places to go. Albeit, she must look awful; dark circles half-mooning underneath her eyes, sockets swollen from crying, cheeks puffy and splotched with color, hair disheveled and skin paler than it typically appeared to be. She was surprised that he didn’t come to offer her physical support immediately, because she must look as if she were going to collapse again. She loved him, but she was glad that he didn’t. That would just make her more tempted to remain in the castle.

“I have to return home,” her voice was cracking from lack of use. “Something’s wrong.”

“What is?” His hand touched her shoulder, and it took all of Lialya’s strength not to cringe away. It was as if she had been battered by the Archdemon all over again! “You haven’t kept anything from me since the Blight. What’s going on?”

Turning so she could face him, the Dalish Queen gently touched their foreheads together. The sensual touch always felt right to her. She could smell his familiar scent, feel his warmth spreading throughout her body. It was taking all of her strength not to cry, to stay level-headed and remain comforted. “I think something bad has happened to Lehel. It would be horrendous of me not to return home; he is my brother, my twin, my other half. I cannot ignore this.” 

“I’ll go with you.” He immediately offered.

“No, you need to stay here. I can travel farther and faster on my own, and I can return sooner. There must be a Theirin here in the castle so nothing can catch us off guard.” She opened her eyes, pulling back. Her skin immediately cooled, and she regretted their lack of contact. “I cannot ignore this. As much as I love you, we must part temporarily. I will write to you whenever I reach a courier, but I cannot take you with me. If I go now, I can make it to Redcliffe tonight and stay with Eamon, and then I can push onto the forest come dawn.” 

Painfully, she slipped on her old dragon-scale armor over her head, moving to retrieve Starfang out from underneath their bed. Next came her Ironbark bow, which she immediately slid on along with its sheath of arrows. Both fit naturally into the permanent grooves it left in her shoulders, and comfort temporarily washed away her pain. Not minding Alistair’s gaze (for it was nothing he hadn’t seen before), she slid off her cloth pants in favor for the second half of her armor. It fit so well, feeling far more familiar than ball gowns and dresses ever did. 

“You cannot go alone,” Alistair’s voice was as hard as she had ever heard. It sent chills down her spine, so the Dalish Queen had to fight the urge to turn and press their lips together to dispel his harsh voice. “There’s too much risk.”

“Do you think I can’t take care of myself?” Lialya’s voice became equally hard as she turned back, her gaze wry. Prickles of annoyance slid down her spine. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was old enough to crawl; I can protect myself out in the open. I can tell the right type of people from the wrong types.” 

“Times have changed. You’re not a Warden anymore, but a Queen!” His gaze glimmered with a picture of anxiety and love. Could she blame him for being so protective? Everything had continuously gone to hell whilst they were on the road, so it was only natural that he longed to protect her from whatever else might want to ruin the good work that they were currently doing.

“That is no excuse!” Lialya snapped, finding herself unable to keep a lid upon her temper. She was exhausted, afraid, and trying not to grieve; she shouldn’t have to take it out on Alistair. It wasn’t fair to him. “I won’t put someone else’s life in danger. I have not forgotten my training, and I will not return to you as a corpse! I understand your concern, I really do, but I cannot share it.” Forcing herself to calm, the Dalish Queen wrapped her belt around her waist and buckled, adjusting her sheath so that it rested comfortably against her thigh. The sweet sound of Starfang sliding into its sheath graced her ears, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the familiarity of its weight and it’s feel. “Please, let me do this. I need to do this on my own.”

Alistair looked torn. He seemed to want to trust her, but she also could tell that he wanted to protect her. Everything that had happened made them less likely to let the other out their sight for too long, for fear of losing them.

“You have to promise me that you’re going to come back,” his words were sorrowful, and his voice broke. His hands were clenching at his sides. “We haven’t parted in five years. I would _die_ if something happened to you.”

“I promise,” Lialya whispered as she touched her lips to his, savoring his wondrous taste and the way his lips moved to press against hers in turn. “I _will_ be returning.”


	11. bursts of fire.

Tevinter Mage’s surrounded the Elven duo, blocking all means of escape. 

A bloodied hand gripped the slick pommel of a dagger, but an exhausted body told her wild mind that they had no chance. Even though they were tiring, and there were only two of them, they would put up quite the fight. Their strength would not be able to match the overwhelming numbers of the Tevinter. It had been dangerous coming here to begin with, but both had been more than eager to escape the bright spotlight that King Alistair had pinpointed upon them. His blindness to the truth was condemning them to death.

Elnalé, charged for the murder of the Warden, desecration of her crypt, for the illegal use of blood magic. Lialya, charged for being a Demon of the Fade, for possessing the Wardens deceased body. The King had not been willing to listen to reason when they explained that somehow, Elnalé’s magic had been enough to revive Lialya from her death. She had come back with a blank slate, although she had come back with the wounds she sustained from the Archdemon, she had no sign of the Taint within her body. A side-effect, though . . . was the loss of her memories. Lialya had forgotten everything up until the point of where she and Tamlen were still simple hunters, treading around the forest in careful stances and flirting at every chance that they got. 

It took time, and it took a lot of work, but Lialya got her memories back. Though they all had not returned, most of them had indeed made themselves known and she had enough information to fill in the blanks. She had needed time to heal from Alistair’s rejection, to heal from him thinking that she was a damned creature of the Fade, but she had done it. Somehow, she had fought the impossible and returned back to a version similar to her old self.

And, in turn, realized the strength of her feelings for Elnalé.

Lialya reached her free hand behind her, twining her fingers with the other mage’s. Reassuringly, she gently squeezed her hand, taking care to recline so their shoulders were pressed together. She was comforted by the others presence. At this point, with the life that they’ve lived, she was fine with the way that it was going to end. Though she knew their adopted babies and their two Mabari would miss them terribly, they always had Zevran and Leliana to take care of them. 

“What should we do?” Elnalé pressed, her voice strained. Both were still standing back-to-back, chests heaving and bodies terse. The Tevinter Mage’s were crowding in closer and closer, hustling the two closer to certain death. It would have been worrisome if not for Lialya’s realization that no matter what they did, it ended here.

“There is nothing we can do,” Lialya whispered, lashing out at the closest mage. The tip of her dagger barely grazed his arm. “Are you happy with how everything has gone? With the way our end has presented itself?” 

When they had found that Ferelden had been far from safe for them to reside in, they had gone traveling amongst Thedas. They had seen almost every corner of the world, and their family had been upgraded from two to twelve. Ten adopted little Elves, and two sweet, loving Mabari. Zevran and Leliana had been considered their family for a little while, for they had each stayed with them for years upon end at one point in time or another. Their kids were now mentally scarred, but that was beside the point here. 

One of the kids was Lehel’s son. After her twin brothers murder, and then the death of his wife, their young son had no other family to return to. So, Lialya had made a special trip to return to the Sabrae Clan and collected her nephew. He was her life; her only remaining kin, and she loved him with all of her heart. It was going to kill her, literally, to have to leave him and the others behind, but it had to be done. He was older now, he would be able to take care of himself. He didn’t need her like he once did.

“If this is our end, then I wouldn’t mind. I won’t let them do to us what they’ve done to others.” Elnalé’s voice was so firm that it sent shivers down Lialya’s spine. 

The Dalish girl always knew that her life would be stolen at the end of a sword or a bow. She had been okay with that; ever since becoming a Warden, she had been anticipating the end with open arms. This end, with Elnalé by her side, was the best one she could have ever hoped for. 

“Then so be it. We say goodbye here.” Lialya squeezed Elnalé’s hand again, and felt the mage return the pressure. 

So when their world ended in a flurry of fire, and when the flames singed their skin, Lialya did not cry out. She did not make a single sound until her hand was ripped away from the others, but by then it was too late. Their world ended in a blaze of wild flames, surrounded by those they hated most.

She preferred being burned alive as opposed to falling to Darkspawn, anyway.


	12. a place to rest your head.

Ma’vhenan,

I know you must be confused, waking up by yourself. My side of the bed will be cold, and there will be no sign that I was ever there. I’m sorry.

I suppose I must explain myself, yes? Well, Your Majesty, I realize that I have made a mistake. I made a giant mistake in letting you go. After the fight with the Archdemon, I had not wanted to let you go, to let you slip from my grasp, but I . . . you had to become King. It was only the right decision. But look at what happened! You lived your life with Anora; you are an amazing King. You’ve done more for Ferelden than I would have ever imagined. I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far from the witty companion that I enjoyed so much life with.

My own life has been spent just as productively, I hope. I managed to help rebuild the entirety of the Fort (though it took a long time, seeing as how bad the Darkspawn invasion had been there), and I discovered that the tunnels there were connected to the ones in the Deep Roads.

Remember that? When you caught me from falling off the edge of the road as it crumpled beneath my feet, before we encountered that ugly monster? 

Of course . . . I still remember the day that you came to the Fort, when I conscripted Anders. I hid from you, mostly because I couldn’t bear to face you yet. It was still too soon, still too raw for me to look into your eyes and see my own pain reflected back at me. I’m so glad Anders and Oghren covered for my disappearance, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I’m sorry that I did not greet you. I couldn’t do it.

Over the years, I found that I could face you. I could look into your eyes and smile, joke about old time and even momentarily forget that we were together. Though those moments were few and far between, I found that my heart could move on. I managed to love Thelven, even though he tried to take my life.

You found the scar he gave me last night. You found that perfectly round scar, shoved right between my breasts. Even though you had looked at me curiously, asking me for a story with only your eyes, I had to distract you with a kiss. You already knew the story, for after I had recovered, I came to you to share that my life had almost been stolen, but I did not give you details. I don’t know why, but I don’t think I trusted you enough to give you details at that point. At this time, now, I cannot give you any details, for I am gone.

I took care of the threat; I took care of a lot of things. We managed to maintain a wary friendship, knowing that it was better than nothing. We had to give each other something; the Warden-Commander and the King of Ferelden had to converse somehow. It was not my favorite way, for I missed our easy conversations, but it was a way all the same. All those times we talked, I found myself slipping back into the frame of mind that told me that I was falling back in love with you. Even though I was the one to split ties, to release you into the world and push you to do your very best, I hated myself for my choice.

Never did I ever want to hurt you so horridly. I wanted to keep you all to myself, let you know that I adored you no matter what, and live in a world where my decisions would never hurt us in such a grand way. But after the Archdemon was dead, I had such a large realization: things just became clear to me. In no way shape or form were we supposed to make it to the life that we dreamed of. It killed me to admit it to anyone, even myself, but it was the only way. 

I keep saying that, don’t I? It was the only way, or it was for the best. In my mind, I believe it. 

In this letter, I just wanted to admit to you that I still loved you. My heart still beat for no one other than you. I took other lovers, none as prominent in my life as you. Last night was a gift, in my eyes. One final night to be spent with the man that I wanted to keep in my life forever. I reawakened my love for you to its final stance last night. I love you. I love you. I love you.

My King, my majesty, my love. Last night was our last night together forever. I’ve run out of time; I can hear you beginning to stir from the next room, and though I wanted to tell you everything, I cannot. I’ve many tales I wish to bless your ears with but alas, I cannot. Perhaps in the afterlife.

When you finally awaken for real, I’ll be gone. I came here to say goodbye to Leliana, not get involved with the Inquisitor and the mess that is beginning to unfold. I cannot cling to my life any longer, I hear it. My Calling has come. I feel it burning within me, feel it writhing inside. I’ve ignored it for too long, it’s gotten to the point of where I awaken far from my bed, facing the direction of Orzammar.

I didn’t want to say goodbye to you to your face. I didn’t want to break your heart like that. I did not plan for you to come here, for me to sleep with you again. After I was to say goodbye to Leliana, I was supposed to leave, not spend another night. I’m going to go face the Darkspawn, it’s time for me to go. I’ve spent my time with the Taint wisely, doing the best that I can. I know that I must have failed by your standards, seeing as how we’ve spent so much time apart, but to mine . . . I’ve done wonderfully well.

There’s nothing more I can say here without rambling on. My love, do not follow me to Orzammar. This is my time to go, not yours. Please, take care of yourself. Let yourself love again. It would . . . bring me such joy in the afterlife if you did. I would not be able to explain my joy. 

I love you.

_Lialya Mahariel._


	13. give me your faith.

His sword sliced through another Darkspawn body, casting it back to the ground. She looked like a fish swimming the wrong way upstream; the Darkspawn would part around her, not knowing that she was an enemy until it was too late. She was getting closer and closer to the vantage point, but she was no safer than she was when she was by his side. She was in so much danger out there, but all he could afford to do was cover her. He hoped, no, he _prayed_ that Oghren and Anders were having better luck. They had to have reached the other vantage point by now.

Everywhere he could see, there were Darkspawn. They must have congregated and regrouped within the Deep Roads, and then found their way to the Fort. Lialya had been worried about the tunnels underneath, saying that they should cave them in just in case the Darkspawn found their way, but no one had really been on her side. Most said that they needed the tunnels for an escape route, whilst others said that there were still trinkets down there. But, like always, she was right. The Darkspawn had found their way to the Fort, and were trying their best to take over. For four days, they had been stuck inside, biding their time, wondering what the fuck they were going to do in order to escape.

It was Lialya’s brilliant idea for the Grey Wardens to force their way to the vantage points and signal for help. Anders magic would shine high in the sky for hours on end; the townspeople would see it as an S.O.S. and eventually come with reinforcements. Lialya would fire flaming arrows into the sky as well, in the direction of the armed base, hoping that they would see the signal. It was a simple enough plan, but the only danger was the Darkspawn in-between. There were thousands of them, more than Alistair ever remembered seeing in a long while.

The entire Fort was illuminated by a vivid, bloody hue. The moon that was typically a reassuring silver had been turned as scarlet as the blood that bathed the Fort, and was full. There were no stars. Clouds were gathering across the dark sky, but clear as day, Alistair could see Anders magic. It was almost like fireworks; an assortment of colors that indicated panic. For a moment, he longed to revel in the beauty of the colors, but his Warden-Commander needed him.

Striding forward, he followed her erratic movements with his worried gaze as she dashed onto the narrow ledge connecting to the tower, Starfang gripped tightly in her grasp and dripping with blood. The Darkspawn howled and clawed at her feet, unable to get at her. She was too quick, throwing herself up onto the vantage point. For a moment, she dangled upon the point, her legs waving uselessly underneath her and fingers dug deeply into the grate. Alistair wanted to run towards her, pull her up as he did in Orzammar to save her from plummeting to her death, but she clearly had a hold over herself.

As easily as if she were climbing a tree, Lialya’s instincts kicked in. Her body began to raise up the grate, arms hauling her forward until she was safe. For a moment, she lay with her forehead resting upon Starfang and breathing heavily, but then she got into motion again.

Starfang was slid back into its sheath whilst her nimble fingers ripped out her bow, arrows coming next. It took only moments for the arrows to spring to life, flames crawling up the wood. Her body took on a firm pose as she aimed, pulling the string back and launching the arrows high into the sky. The clouds were illuminated in such a harsh manner, but the flares were up, crying out for help in both directions. 

“Thank the Maker,” Alistair breathed, seeing Lialya’s worry as her gaze scanned the Darkspawn below. She was clearly trying to find her escape route, but there was no open way. They were crowding around the vantage point, weapons waving and bodies cracking against the material of the point. If Alistair looked closely enough, he could see cracks beginning to appear within the stones.

“Hey, dumbasses!” Alistair yelled. “After me! C’mon, you know you want me more!”

“Dwarves taste _far_ better than Elves!” Oghren’s voice was loud next to Alistair and he almost jumped. He was glad to see that the mage and the Dwarf had returned without getting hurt, but also worried. Would they be enough to help distract the Darkspawn?

It seemed that they were. Most of the Darkspawn that were hounding Lialya came running for the trio gathered, and all three barely had enough time to defend themselves. Alistair swung his sword just in time to catch a Genlock in the face, whilst Anders exploded a region of them not too far away. Oghren was screeching like a banshee and chasing a few down, but there were far too many for them all to comfortably fight. Even in such close quarters, they would not be enough to protect themselves. 

“Lialya, watch out —!”

Alistair’s shrieked warning came too late.

Out of the corner of his gaze, he had seen the strangest of creatures prowling on the ledge. It was large, and it almost reminded him of a wolf, but it was far larger. Its pelt was spiked and seemed to be barbed, and its paws had talons. Its tail was lashing back and forth, dangerous gaze locked right upon Lialya.

From off the ledge it sprang, paws outstretched and claws reaching for her slender body. She turned a second far too late, a screech ripping from her lips. Both she and the creature fell over the vantage point, right into the sea of Darkspawn. 

“ _LIALYA_!” Alistair yelled, barely being able to refrain from throwing himself after her. He knew she could handle herself, but this — this was too much. There were too many Darkspawn around, and with that . . . that _thing_ ready to rip her apart, she had no chance.

But again, his Warden managed to surprise him. One blood soaked arm rose from the mass, and then her head popped up. Her mouth was wide open, eyes scrunched shut and blood everywhere. Her other arm appeared, and she pulled herself out of the mass, managing to get to a point in which she could rest for a moment. From this distance, he could see her chest rising and falling rapidly. There was no part of her that wasn’t covered in blood. Her struggle wasn’t over yet, albeit; she had lost her arrows, left only with her bow and a blood soaked Starfang. She seemed to have endless energy, for as soon as the Darkspawn were on her again, she was slashing and stabbing, mouth bared in one of the most vicious snarls he had seen on her since the Blight.

“I’ve got her,” a breathy voice hummed near Alistair. It was Anders. The mage had his hands locked above his head, power beginning to bud between his palms. His eyes were as cold as stones. 

“What if you hit her?” Alistair shrieked over the loud noise. The wind had really picked up in the last few minutes, and the sounds of the lashing rain was almost too much to bear. 

“I won’t.” Anders voice was deadly serious. “It won’t affect her in the slightest. Cover your eyes.”

Instinctively, Alistair put his arm up over his eyes, shielding them from the bright light that suddenly dominated the dark sky. He could see the lights out of the corner of his gaze, and when he dared pull his arm down, Anders snapped at him to put it back, and so he did. 

“It’s fine now, you won’t burn your eyes out.” Anders’ voice was silky with arrogance. Alistair, once his arm was down, shot him a nasty glance, but returned his attention back to Lialya all the same. His dear Warden was closer now, and the Darkspawn that had been unable to leave her alone were gone. Whether Anders turned them to smithereens, or whether he transported them elsewhere, his love was safe. _Ish_.

“Go get her,” Anders voice again is deadly serious. “She won’t be able to walk on her own. Her strength is failing fast.” 

Sheathing his weapons, Alistair hurried out along the narrow ledge to her, watching as her familiar azure gaze lit up with love. He managed to slide his arms around her just in time, his hand darting out to snag Starfang before it could clatter to the ground. Her weight, usually light against him, was now heavy. She slumped immediately into his shoulder, unable to hold herself up. 

“Get me inside,” she hissed, her voice sharp. “ _Inside_.”

Jerking his head to Anders and Oghren, the Wardens hobbled back through the cast iron door that Anders had spelled shut. Oghren was able to keep the Darkspawn off of them until they got inside, and then things were eerily silent. 

“To the dining hall, to the dining hall,” Lialya was saying, her voice barely a whisper. Her head was lolling on her shoulders, and with every little movement, blood sloshed out onto the stone flooring. The dimly lit torches weren’t enough to illuminate the halls, so for a good five minutes they were walking in complete darkness. All Alistair could hear was their footsteps, Lialya’s weak breaths, and Oghren and Anders behind them. 

When they burst through the heavy door, all eyes were turned onto them. Lialya unceremoniously slumped to the floor, Alistair going with her. Starfang clattered from his grip. 

“Put pressure on that wound,” Anders directed. “I’m going to find a healer.” 

Now that Alistair could see her better, he saw the wound. He almost vomited when he saw how bad it was. The creature that had bowled her over had bitten a chunk right out of her side, leaving her hipbone and her ribs exposed. It hadn’t bitten down so deep that her organs were exposed or torn out, but it had taken a good chunk of muscle and flesh. How the hell was he going to be able to stop that bleeding? Already there was a pool beginning to spread on the stones, the waves lapping at his knees.

“Help me up, Alistair,” the Warden commanded. Her eyes had fluttered open, the azure looking stark surrounded by the scarlet. The rain had washed most of the blood, gunk and gore off of her, but there was still a considerable amount left. “Get me up.”

Not knowing how to respond, Alistair obeyed. He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her to her feet. Blood sloshed out again. She wavered, but she still remained standing. 

“Men,” her voice was loud as she addressed everyone in the dining hall. They had been waiting for the four to come back from their seemingly hopeless journey outside, and now were waiting for more commands.

“Women, everyone that have come here seeking refuge, work, or even a home; we did it. The Wardens again managed to prevail.” She broke off with a violent cough. “We got a signal out to the outside, and now, we must wait for a response back. It has been my . . . pleasure leading you all. I have adored every second I have spent at this Fort, and now I know what it truly means to be a leader. If things do no go our way, the way we had been hoping it would, I want you all to know that I am proud. I am proud of your efforts, your dedication to protect each other and the people of Thedas. The Darkspawn out there will eventually come inside, and even if it kills all of us to take them down, you’ll be rewarded in the afterlife. You’ll have done something right, protected your people and your families. If help does not come, then we will all die here — together, as Wardens!” This time, when she coughed, blood came with. 

“As your Commander, as your leader, as your friend . . . I am proud.” 

Lialya’s legs gave out a second time, and this time, she brought Alistair down with her.


	14. we live our life in our minds.

The soothing feeling of familiar fingers running up and down her arm stirred the young girl from her slumber. Slowly, she began to peel her crusty eyes open, murmuring something unintelligible underneath her breath. 

“What was that, Lethallan?” His voice was heavy was sleep and the soothing feeling stopped, putting a frown upon her face. Why did he stop? “Did you say something?” 

“No,” she turned so that she could rest her chin gently upon his chest, looking up at his face with her sharp azure hues. “I didn’t say a thing, Tamlen.” 

Tamlen smiled, such a beautiful sight, and twined their fingers together. He raised their hands, running his lips along her knuckles. Her heart ached at the simple motion, filled with such love. “Mm. Well, I was thinking,” he began.

“You were? I’m so surprised.” 

“Ah,  _Fenedhis_ ,” he cursed, “I almost had forgotten how sharp your tongue can be.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles again. “But, I was being serious; I was thinking about us and our future.” 

Something in the back of her mind pricked. She felt as if she had had this conversation with him before . . . “Oh?” Was all she could manage to say, unable to help the frown that began pulling at her lips.

“We are both going to be hunters, and you want to become Keeper one day. They say we are too young to think of what we want with our futures, but I disagree.” 

“Five-and-ten years isn’t too young to be thinking of what we could be doing to help provide.” She gave his hand a comforting squeeze, and Tamlen took that as a sign to continue.

“As soon as we show the Keeper that we are capable of being responsible, which I presume is going to be pretty damn soon, for there’s a hunt happening tomorrow that I am participating in, we should . . . get married. That way we could start our family, spend a longer amount of time together —”

“You don’t need sweet words to coax me into it,  _ma vhenan_.” With her free hand, she reached up, cupping his cheek as lightly as she could and stroking the hard bone underneath. “ _Ar lath, ma vhenan._  So much.” 

Almost as if his hope for their future was restored, Tamlen adjusted himself so that he could touch their lips, murmuring things in elvish between quick kisses. “ _Var lath ver sulendin. Ver sumeil. Ma vhenan, ma vhenan, Lialya._ ” The kisses began to fade, and the girl settled into the crook of his arm again, focusing upon the beating of his heart as she drifted out of consciousness.

* * *

“ _Venavis_ ,” Lialya twisted, stirring uncomfortably. “ _Venavis, venavis_!” Her muscles grew terse and she arched, feeling as if her entire body was on  _fire_. Everything hurt. Her blood coursing through her veins hurt, every single muscle hurt,  _everything_ in her entire body felt as if it was burning her from the inside out and she wanted to cry out, to thrash, but the hands on her wrists stopped her from doing such.

“Wake up, Lialya, wake up!” 

The shaking of her arms made her jerk awake, pupils dilating immediately as her eyes snapped open. A blurry face swam in her field of vision and she blinked rapidly, not realizing she was holding her breath until she shakily exhaled. Blearily, she looked down to see Tamlen was holding her wrists, and her brows began to knit in confusion. “What . . .?”

“I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself. You must have been having a nightmare, Lialya, you were crying out and squirming. What were you dreaming of?” Tamlen’s own brows were knitted, lower lip sticking out in concern. 

“I . . .” The remnants of her dream began to come back to her. “I had a dream that you were dead,” Lialya blurted, worming her wrists out from his grasp and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. The force of her throwing herself into his arms so quickly managed to upset Tamlen’s balance slightly, but his arms automatically encircled around her slight body, holding her tightly. “You had died because we found out information from these  _shemlen’s_  that there was a  _cave_ in our territory and we went to investigate it but there were walking corpses in there and there was this demon creature that attacked us, and you went up to this mirror, and when you touched it you started speaking nonsense and then something horrific happened. We were both infected and I blacked out and when I woke back up I was back in the camp —” Lialya broke off with a sob. 

“Shh,” Tamlen whispered, stroking her tri-colored hair soothingly. “I’m here now, I’m not dead.” 

“I woke up in camp  _without_ you and there was this Grey Warden there telling us about the Blight, and that I had fallen ill with the Taint. I went back with Fenarel and Merrill to the cave to see if you were there, to . . . recover your body . . . and we couldn’t find you. The Grey Warden said that you were dead, that it would be far better if you were just  _dead_ , and that we should let you go. But I couldn’t accept that. I can’t accept what came after, too.” She tucked her face into his shoulder, her voice becoming muffled. “The Warden took me away from camp, saying that he was going to make me one of them, but things went  _wrong_ so quickly. He died, and it was just this one Warden and I, the daughter of  _Asha’bellanar_ , an assassin, a Qunari, a bard, and two of the  _Durgen’len_. I was leading them, and you were gone, and I was finding myself falling for this  _shem_. But you were  _gone_ and I couldn’t bear. I couldn’t bear without you.” 

Somehow, after her tears subsided and she grew calmer, she found herself in Tamlen’s lap again and beginning to drift back to sleep. His fingers were carding through her hair, smoothing out the knots that her thrashing had created. The sun was still shining, no clouds showing in the beautiful blue sky. As she fell back asleep, she vaguely remembered thinking that it was weird that the time wasn’t passing here. But those thoughts were lost when Tamlen began to hum, causing her to relax completely and slip away.

* * *

Waking up for the third time, Lialya felt battered. She felt as if she had been fighting all day, and when she tried to pick herself up from Tamlen’s lap, her body felt lethargic and heavy. Squeezing her eyes shut, she scrunched up her face, mentally counting to ten in Elvish before forcing her eyes open.

She never really appreciated the scenery before. 

Both she and Tamlen were resting upon a grassy hill, the trees of the Brecilian Forest fanning out behind them. Before them was a sheer cliff face, a salty sea lapping at the sandy shore below. Sometimes, whenever their clan came back to this area of the Forest, she and Tamlen used to swim and compete with her twin brother Lehel, Merrill, and Fenarel to see who was the best. Lialya would often get cold and exit around the same time as Merrill, and then the boys would have a standoff until Fenarel would give up, followed by Tamlen, leaving her brother the Champion of the Sea. 

With the way the sun was shining, she could see the assortment of colors along the waves. Bright blues and soft greens, coupled with a deep indigo. The waves glimmered like the most beautiful gems, drawing her attention far away from the fact that something was incredibly wrong. A childish sense of wonder rose in her, and she wanted to pick her lethargic body up from Tamlen’s lap and go splashing through the shallowest parts. It was too cool here for a swim, but she longed to dip her toes in, to splash at Tamlen and get him all riled up.

Clenching her jaw, Lialya exhaled deeply, and Tamlen moved to touch his hand to her cheek. His calloused thumb began stroking her clenched tendon, and she involuntarily relaxed, letting his gentle touches keep her in a compliant state. 

“I could stay here with you forever.” She murmured, her eyes growing heavy again.

“We don’t ever have to leave.” Tamlen’s voice is soft, so familiar and so reassuring. She loved him.

“Good. I love you so much more than I could ever put into words.” 

“Mmm . . .” His hand moved from her face to cup around her neck, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into her terse tendons. She exhaled, long and slow, enjoying the wondrous warm rays and the stirring breeze. They were alone here, very alone, which was odd. Very odd. Shouldn’t there be others coming to look for them? Lehel, at the very least? 

She must have tensed again, because Tamlen was responding, making a soothing noise in the back of his throat and rubbing her wound muscles. It was enough to prick at her exhaustion again, threatening to drag her back down into the abyss of unconsciousness. 

Wait . . . 

Why was he working so hard to keep her relaxed and asleep? 

Fighting her lethargy and her lack of strength, Lialya pulled herself away from Tamlen, aware that it was like pulling her skin off of her sinewy tendons. She hated being too far from him at all times. After the dream she had had before . . . 

 _Was_  it a dream? 

Suddenly dazed and feeling very, _very_ dizzy, Lialya sat up on her own, everything around her spinning. Fighting back a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling sharply. 

“Are you okay?” Tamlen asked, concerned.

“I don’t know,” Lialya whispered in response, forcing her eyes open to look down at her hands. 

Before, her hands were slender and soft. Despite working with bows and weapons her entire life, salves and certain thick liquids kept her skin smooth and lacking in callouses. Her fingers and palms were a light shade of tan, long and slender, looking delicate but were absolutely deadly due to how well she knew her way around weapons and people. 

Now, they were dirty and rough. Her skin was terse and stretched tight over her bones, callouses covering the insides of her fingers and along her palms. Her skin had a strange tinge to it, something dark seeming to lurk within her blood, making her seem impure and tainted from the inside out. She could see a thick blackness akin to sludge coursing through her veins, the presumable cause to the sickly shadow to her skin. 

“What —” Lialya’s hands began to tremble. “What’s going on?” 

“What are you talking about?” Tamlen looked at her incredulously. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“I never  _said_ there was something wrong with me.” Impatience made her snap. She felt older, more exhausted, battered and broken by something that she didn’t remember. She felt as if she had fought through one of the toughest wars, but she hadn’t moved from this spot. 

Suddenly suspicious, Lialya put some distance between herself and Tamlen. He tried to follow, but she put her hand up in the space between their chests, and he stopped trying to come closer. He looked at her, hurt, but she steeled herself off to him. Something was off. All of her senses screamed at her to run, to flee this too-perfect place.

“Why are you fighting this?” Tamlen's voice was reassuring and soft, different from before. “Why don’t you come lay back down, we can go back to sleep, and then go hunt.” 

“You’re not real . . .” Lialya accused, though her voice was lacking any real weight to it. “You can’t be. My dream wasn’t just a dream; it was  _real_.” 

“How could it have been real, Lialya?” Tamlen sounded frustrated. “There is  _no way_ a Blight could return. Besides, I’d never leave you. I’d  _never_ touch a mirror that would get me killed, and you sick.” 

She scrambles to her feet unsteadily, distress gripping her in cold claws. She felt like her whole world was crashing down. “No, no . . . You told me you’d be fine when you touched it, Tamlen. You said that nothing would happen to you,  _that’s_ why you did it. But things happened, and I was thrown into something I can never fully understand.” The more she spoke about it, the more her memories began to return.

Meeting Alistair, the fall of Ostagar, Flemeth telling them to let Morrigan join them, them traveling through Lothering together and meeting Leliana and Sten, Zevran attacking them and her allowing him to join their little ragtag team, Loghain sending more soldiers to dispatch them, deciding to head to the Circle of Magi — 

Lialya froze. The Circle . . . No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember just  _how_ far they had gotten into the Tower. Keeping her eyes on Tamlen to ensure that he was going to stay where he was, she inhaled sharply, the memory of the Sloth Demon hitting her  _hard_. It’s monotonous voice instilling a sense of weakness within her, making her just want to lay down right there on the floor and sleep. All of them, Zevran, Alistair, Wynne and herself trying to stay awake, but inevitably sinking upon the bloodied and gunky floor, falling into the clutches of something dangerous. 

“You are  _not_ real.” She said firmly. “I remember. You’re a delusion, a dream.  _Dirth’ena enasalin_.” 

Cautiously, the sloth version of Tamlen rose to his feet, dusting off his breeches with an expressionless look on his face. She wished she had a weapon on her, for she was never able to take Tamlen in close combat. This would prove to be much harder because it was not  _her_  Tamlen. She did not know him. “Not quite an Arcane Warrior,” he said quietly, his voice breaching her core. The fresh pain of his loss was hitting her all over again. “Just . . . a figment of your mind. I offer you something that you cannot have in the waking world:  _ma vhenan_.” Lialya’s brain flashed with rage at the tender words, but he continued on, oblivious to the anger growing in her expression. “Here, I am alive, aren’t I? Out there . . . there’s war. There’s suffering. I am dead out there. In here, you’re safe with me, you’re  _okay_ , there’s no pressure on you.” He reached his hand out to catch her jaw, and Lialya pulled away, determined to keep distance between them. His touch would cloud her mind. There could be no physical contact.

Sloth Tamlen looked hurt, but Lialya curled her lip at him. “Do you think I’d be so stupid as to stay here with you? I’d die.” She could already feel a change taking place within her; her words were different, she wasn’t speaking frequently in their lost language, she was harsher, brasher, callous. 

“You’re six-and-ten years,” he reminded her, “a child in the midst of a war that you do not understand. You’re parading around in a suit of armor that’s too heavy for you, pretending like their insults and their barbs don’t hurt you, but you still find yourself awake at night wondering just how different things would be if you were  _human_.” He said the word bitterly. “Human. That’s what you’ve wanted since you’ve left, right? Since you’ve found yourself mixing with them? You want to blend in. You want to be like them. You want to  _be_ one of them.” 

“Stop it —” Lialya pleaded, but the Sloth Tamlen swept on like she wasn’t there. 

“You’ve become too much of a different person to be recognizable anymore. Lialya Mahariel, who is that? Not the  _Warden_ standing before me. You were a hunter, you were going to marry me, we were going to have kids and you were going to become the next Keeper. We were going to be a  _family_ , and yet, here you are, in a relationship with a  _shem_ and rejecting everything that you knew.  _What_ are you doing, Li?  _Why_ do you continue to fight? They are not your people, and they will never be your people. You belong  _here_ , where you grew up, not in a place where you  _pretend_  to be something you are not.” 

“Because I know it’s for the greater good. I know that if I stay here, then I’m going to die, along with my friends.” 

“They’re not your friends.” 

“They  _are_ my friends,  _ma serannas_.” She snapped. The Sloth Demon was playing with her, she knew. It was trying to weaken her again so that she may succumb to its influence. There was no way she was letting that happen again! There was a whole world she needed to return to, still, but she didn’t know  _how_ to get back to it. 

“What about your brother? Merrill? Fenarel? Aren’t  _they_ your friends?” 

“They are, but, they’re not here. They’re at home.” 

“You have no right to call that place your home any longer. You gave that right up when you began wishing you had no trace of Elven blood in your veins.” The blow was low, and Lialya flushed with shame. It was true. She had often desired that she was different, that she was not . . . different. Dirty. Wild. Feral. Maybe then things would be easier if her ears were rounded rather than pointed, if her face was softer rather than sharp, if her eyes were a simple color rather than piercing. Would people respect her if she had looked like them? If she had worn the same face as they did? 

“I am still an Elf,” she said lowly, avoiding his gaze. “I am still a Dalish. I am still  _Mahariel_ , and yes, I am a Warden. I do fantasize about being different; I do wonder if things would be different if was . . . like them. Sometimes I _wish_ I _was_ like them! But, through and through, I am Lialya Mahariel, six -and-ten years of age, twin to Lehel. I am not the same girl that you once knew.” She took steps forward, cupping his jaw and brushing her lips against his. She hated this, she hated how her entire body melted and how he grasped her hips like they were the only real thing in the world, thumbs rubbing the sensitive spots above her sharp bones that only he knew were there. The kiss quickly grew desperate, and her hands dropped from his jaw to map out across his lean, broad chest, familiar underneath her fingers.

He pulled away, brushing his lips along her cheek and her jaw, pressing soft kisses along her defined features. “You can have this,” he whispered, his grip becoming like vice. “You can have me, you can have this place, you can have  _home_.” She closed her eyes, drinking in the feelings that filled her. “Or you can have that.” 

Lialya opened her eyes, looking just past Tamlen, her heart breaking when she saw what he wanted her to see. It was a memory, clearly perceived from an outsider point of view. She was sitting in tall grasses, her legs splayed out, hands braced behind her as her head remained tipped back. Her throat was exposed, eyes closed, lips parted as the rays sank into her skin. In her lap, Alistair had his head resting upon her narrow thighs, looking up at her with admiration in his eyes. She had been able to feel his gaze upon her, watching her, and she had felt comforted by it.

She watched as she opened her eyes, smiling down at him, folding herself over so that she could press a kiss to his forehead. Her fingers were carding through his short, tufted hair, brushing her lips across every feature except for his lips. As if it were a game, he tried to capture her lips with his own, but she had always been quick to pull back, quick to grin at him and say something along the lines of:  _“patience will be your virtue.”_ She still remembered the way he frowned at her, looking annoyed, but eager for more. 

Distantly, Lialya could hear Alistair’s laugh, and she closed her eyes tightly. 

That was the real world. This was not. Not wanting this Tamlen to get suspicious, she connected their lips together, one hand reaching behind her back to where she knew she had a dagger stashed. It had made itself known to her only a few seconds’ prior, the red steel burning against her skin, reminding her that it was there, ready for her to grab and wield. 

“I have to choose the real world,  _ma vhenan._ I cannot stay here with you.” Her voice was trembling, but she knew what she had to do. There was no other choice. She forced herself to become cold towards him, plunging the dagger straight into his sternum. 

Tamlen’s gaze was filled with confusion, even a little hurt, as he stared down at her. Blood trickled out from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes began to roll back into his head. They were beginning to turn bloodshot, and all color that he had in his body began to fade. He turned stark white in her grasp, the color of picked-over bones, and then he shattered. As if he had never existed, the remains of what he was blew away in the wind, dancing along the currents until it looked like he was sprinkled amongst the waves that held their childhood enjoyment.

 _Goodbye, ma vehenan._ She thought, watching as a glowing stand began to come into existence. 


	15. puppy love.

“Maybe it is my hobby,” she said, a sad smile pulling up the corners of her lips. “Making mages that are fleeing from the law my closest friends, only to lose them to some obscure reason and never be able to find them again. Never share another word with them again.”

“Maybe it is,” Alistair agreed, but he knew better.

Despite those flippant words, those losses were taken to heart. She had worked for months to get Morrigan to approve of her; it had taken a lot out of her, and Alistair had been there by her side every step of the way. He had seen the way the two eventually became as close as they humanly possible with Morrigan, of all _people_ , and then the woman had taken herself and her unborn child and had disappeared. It had cut at the Commander deeply, but she had let the woman go without a fight. After all, it was in their agreement. Lialya never broke agreements.

She wouldn’t admit it, not to him or anyone, but he knew that she was waiting for her to return. A letter, a small sign that she was alive still, or that she at least didn’t forget her friends.

Though he hadn’t seen her friendship with Anders blossom, he knew that she had become close with him as well. After saving his life and keeping him in the Wardens, his loss had hit her just as heavily. Heavier than Morrigan’s because he had never said goodbye, never given her the sense of closure. For some reason, some pathetic reason, it kept happening.

Again, and again, and _again_.

“Next mage I meet, I’m not getting close to.” She vowed. Her voice was strong, but those eyes of hers betrayed her. They both knew she would.

“I concur. Who needs mage friends anyway when you’ve got dogs?”


End file.
